A Counting of Days
by paganpunk2
Summary: 25 short Christmas-centric pieces revolving around the Batfam and their nearest and dearest. Rated T for language and heavy discussion topics.
1. Up On the Rooftop

**Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers, and happy December! To celebrate my favorite month, I've decided to write this little series. Every day between now and the 25th I will post a short piece revolving in some way around Christmas. Much as is the situation with 'A Spot of Tea,' none of these stories are necessarily designed to take place in the same universe, but if you are free to mix and match them as you see fit. There will be a lot of our favorite folks making an appearance, but the primary focus will be the Batfam. Tonight's offering is a little exchange between Nightwing and Red Hood, which I sincerely hope that you enjoy. Happy reading!**

* * *

"...Merry Christmas, little brother."

Red Hood paused, one foot resting on the crumbling brickwork that edged the roof he'd been about to take off from. "What do _you_ want?" he snarled, his voice carrying an ersatz vehemence.

"Aw, come on," Nightwing half-teased, half-pled. "It's Christmas Eve. Show a guy a little love, huh?"

"I don't care if it's Judgment Day. You're in my territory without an invitation."

"I didn't know you sent out invitations. Weird. Mine must have gotten lost in the mail," came a rejoinder. There was a hint of sadness about it that made the man under the hood grimace and drag himself around to face his visitor, who immediately smiled. "Like I was saying before...merry Christmas."

"...You about done? I have things to do."

"I know you do," Nightwing gave an understanding nod. "But whatever those things are will wait long enough for you to open your presents, won't they?"

_...Goddamn it, Dick, _Jason cursed to himself. _You do this every year, and it never gets any less annoying. I swear, I'm going to arrange to be out of town for the holidays from now on._ Even as he thought as much, however, he knew it was a lie; after all, he'd made that same silent promise every Christmas Eve since his return to Gotham, and he had yet to actually hold to it. _Probably be pointless anyway; knowing you, you'd track me down on the fucking moon. I don't know why I put up with this,_ he added helplessly as the other man, taking his silence as assent, extended two closed hands. _If anyone is watching..._

"C'mon, bro," the elder vigilante urged softly. "Open your presents. I know they aren't really wrapped, but...well, you know how it is. I'd get some weird looks if someone saw me putting Christmas paper in my belt."

"...Yeah. Well." _They'd forgive you. They'd forgive you anything. _He looked away, his throat suddenly tight. _Hell, even I forgive you for some things, and I...I'm not so good at that. Forgiving. You've always been better at that than me._

"Pick one," Nightwing encouraged. "...Please?"

Letting out a sigh that sounded more exasperated than it truly was, Red Hood conceded. "The left, I guess."

"Ah, you want the practical present first this year!" Four fingers, two black, two blue, unfolded to reveal a tight coil of ultra-thin black rope. "Good choice."

"...I have my own grappling lines, Nightwing," the younger man scoffed. _Useless. You've stopped trying. _ Something pinched in his chest as he made to leave again. _This has become an act for you, hasn't it? Got to make nice with Jason like the golden boy you are, even if it's just for show._

"I know you do. But are yours bulletproof?"

He stopped at that, and turned back once more. "...Are you shitting me?" The risk of a line being sheared during a full-on gun battle was something he was fully aware of but generally tried not to think about. While he himself was well enough armored to take a bit of lead, he had never quite managed to get a reliable rope that was thin enough to serve its purpose but strong enough to survive a direct hit. In close quarters, he knew, it could very well be one of his own bullets ricocheting back that spilled him earthward and spelled his demise. _None of us have ever had bulletproof lines before,_ he mused, finally drawing closer to the only other figure on the rooftop in order to examine the gift. _They always turned out too thick for the grappling guns. If you've got one now, then that must mean...no. Oh, __hell__ no._ "Did _he_ create this?" he hissed, suddenly angry. _I don't want gifts from __him__. Screw that bullshit._

"No."

It was too simple an answer to be a fib, but he pushed anyway, refusing to believe. "You're lying. He made it, and I won't take it."

"Batman had nothing to do with it," Nightwing insisted. "I...I knew you wouldn't use it if you thought he had any part in it, so...look, it took me almost six months to out how to get it thin enough, okay? I wanted to ask him for help, but I didn't," he revealed. "Look, I...I know how you fight, the situations you get yourself into, and I wanted you to be safe. That's all. We all use this type of line now that it exists – I'm not going to leave anyone to fall, obviously – but...I made it for _you_." With that, he closed the remaining gap between them and tucked the bundle into one of his brother's hands. "I just wish we could have worked on it together," he added. "It might have been fun, you know? Like the old days."

"...Those days are gone, Nightwing," Red Hood countered, making his voice hard in order to disguise the lump in his throat. "They died the night I did."

"I know." His lower lip disappeared between his teeth for a moment, a tiny sniffle that was audible only to the two of them sounding before he went on. "...But that doesn't mean we have to forget them, huh? Which brings me to your other present," he forged ahead, holding up a thumb drive. "It's not much, just...just a copy of _A Christmas Story_. I would have brought it on disc, but...space constraints."

_'A Christmas Story'? _Jason nearly cringed. _Christ. _ _The first Christmas movie we watched together._ A memory, long repressed, flooded back. He'd never seen the film before his first holiday season at the Manor, but it had delighted his much-younger self when he finally did. The den had smelled like butter and sugar, he recalled, because Alfred kept bringing them fresh cookies and cocoa and Dick considered watching TV without popcorn a crime. The friendly, confident figure who kept referring to him as 'little brother' and who had laughed right along with him had only served to elevate his mood even further, buoying him up that night and right on through...well, right on through until the end of what he thought of as his 'first life,' if he wanted to be honest with himself. _I think...I think Bruce carried me to bed after the movie ended,_ he gulped. _I think he __had__ to, because I'd fallen asleep leaning against Dick and he couldn't get up without disturbing me..._ "Jesus, Nightwing, sentimental much?" he choked out.

The other man shrugged. "I've never considered sentimentality to be an insult, Jay," he whispered.

He should have ordered him not to use his real name, not here, not in costume, not _ever_. Instead, he reached up with the hand not holding the specialized grappling line and gently took the jump drive. "...Yeah. I know." They stood for a moment more, each lost in his own thoughts, neither speaking. "...You should go," he said finally, the suggestion paining him as he made it. "They'll wonder where you are."

Nightwing nodded sadly. "You're right. I don't want to worry them. Not tonight, especially." He gripped the hooded figure's elbow for the briefest of instants. "...Merry Christmas, little brother. I love you." Then he turned, walked to the nearest precipice, and leaped off.

Red Hood watched him indulge in a single airborne tumble and then swing away into the light snow that had begun to fall while they were talking. In the space of a blink his own personal Santa was gone, leaving only the two small objects clutched desperately in his fingers and the heaviness in his eyes and heart as evidence of his short visit. Clearing his throat, he glanced around to ensure that he was still alone, and then gazed just a moment more towards the glittering sections of the city he knew the other man was headed for. "...Merry Christmas, big brother," he whispered. _I...I love you, too._


	2. Snowballs and Sentiments

**Author's Note: Day two, and it's time for our boys to go tree-hunting! Prepare for laughs and a little sentimentality to boot.**

**To answer a question that was posed by a guest reviewer on yesterday's chapter, 'Turkey Song' will continue to be updated while I work on this series. I did just post a new chapter on that yesterday, so those of you who have been waiting for progress there but haven't checked it out during the last couple of days have fresh plot waiting for you!**

* * *

_Is it so much to ask,_ Bruce thought perturbedly as a fresh complaint erupted from the back seat of the car, _to have a __quiet__ drive in the country?_ He was almost fearful of what he might find as his eyes rose to the rearview mirror, but instead of the sheer bedlam he was expecting he discovered Dick's steady gaze. _Why can't they just get excited about cows and deer the way you always did on these outings, chum?,_ he annoying as the child's meticulous counting of every living thing they passed had been at the time, he would have happily traded that for the hissing and muttered curses his ears were currently being treated to.

His eldest smirked, winked, and then addressed the younger males flanking him. "You know, guys, Alfred's going to be _ticked_ if we go home without a tree," he commented off-handedly.

Damian paused to stare at him. "...We drove all this way, so why _wouldn't_ we get a tree? Don't be idiotic."

"I think he's referring to how inexplicably upset Alfred will be if we go back with a tree _instead_ of you," Tim threw in. "Brat," he added under his breath.

"You-!" The youngest of the group aimed a nerve-blocking jab at his opponent, which Dick deftly intercepted and disarmed. "Hey!"

"Actually," the man in the middle informed them calmly, completely ignoring Damian's protest, "I was referring to the look we're _all_ going to be subject to if Bruce gets any more annoyed with us and has to turn the car around before we even get to the right _county_ for our tree farm."

For a long moment the only sounds were the low rev of the luxury SUV's engine and the faint squeak of the windshield wipers as they all considered just how little they wanted to undergo one of the butler's trademark 'I am more disappointed than you can possibly comprehend, young man' stares. It was Tim who finally broke the silence. "I'll stop if he does," he volunteered.

"Dami?" Dick queried hopefully.

"He started it. He called me a demon-child."

"...Really, Tim?" the eldest sighed. "You're nineteen, for god's sake."

"Yeah, well, he's twelve. And also a demon-child. _But,_" he went on quickly before his older brother could launch into a lecture, "I only called him that because he hit me in the back of the head with a snowball while we were waiting for you guys to come outside. So if he apologizes for that, I'll apologize for what I said."

"Aaaand back to you, Dami," Dick turned his head once more. "Peace?"

"...What's so great about going into the middle of nowhere to chop down a stupid tree, anyway?" the boy scuffed his boot against the floor mat.

"Damian," Bruce warned from up front. _You don't understand,_ he bit back. _You weren't here when it was Dick, Alfred and I on these trips, and then when we added Jason...and lost Jason..._ The annual trips to pick out a fresh Christmas tree had ceased after that awful night, and had only resumed now because Dick had specifically requested it. _You weren't around for any of that, and even though you were certainly here while I was...gone...this past year, you still can't possibly fathom how much this trip symbolizes. Tim's in the same boat, although I think he has a sense of the weight of things just from being so close to Dick. I'm sorry you lack the proper context, Damian, I am, but...well, maybe someday you'll get it. Maybe someday it will mean something to you, too, that we did this together._

"_Fine!_ I'm sorry I hit you with a snowball that a normal person could easily have ducked!"

Tim's mouth worked for a second. "...And I'm sorry that I called you something that gets applied to all the _little kids_ who whack other people with chunks of ice when they aren't looking," he replied.

"Oh, for the love of..." Dick shook his head. "Are you two good now? Can we please have some peace?"

"Sure."

"Fine, whatever."

"Okay, excellent. Now," he rubbed his hands together eagerly and began to peer out of the side windows, "since I'm no longer being forced to act as a buffer state between hostile nations in order to prevent total war, who wants to count some deer?"

Three voices cried out in unison. "_No_!"

* * *

In an effort to keep arguments to a minimum and prevent anyone claiming later that they hadn't had a say in the choosing of the Manor's seasonal conifer, Dick proposed a set of rules as they climbed out of the car. "Here's the deal; we take turns suggesting trees, and we each get three blackballs. You can say no to a tree without using a blackball, but someone else has to back you up for it to stick. No arguing about it either way; two nos or a blackball, and your suggestion is dead, and if you're the only one with an objection and you're out of blackballs, you're SOL and we've got our tree. Sound good?"

"It sounds overly complicated," Bruce opined as he examined the short-range radio he'd been handed at the gate to the property. _We never had anything like that before,_ he didn't voice, not wanting to dredge up old memories while they were trying to make new ones. "...But it's probably necessary," he conceded, looking over to find his two youngest already sizing each other up anew.

"That's fine with me," Tim shrugged.

"Let's make them snowballs instead," Damian grinned wickedly. "You can throw them at the people you blackball."

"...Bruce?" Dick and Tim asked simultaneously.

"Center of gravity shots _only_," the billionaire ruled. "You aim above the collar or below the belt and you lose the rest of your snowballs. You'll also be grounded," he went on, well able to imagine Damian waiting to use his last snowball to peg Tim in the back of the head again.

"That's not fair! You can't ground _them_," the youth protested.

_I wouldn't bet on that,_ Bruce kept to himself. "They aren't the ones I'm worried about," he said instead. "Now let's go, I want to get home before dark."

They trudged into the trees, sometimes sticking to the paths beaten by those who had gone before, other times breaking new trails or splitting off individually for a short spell. Every scattering ended with them grouped around a particular spruce or fir, and none of them hesitated to offer their opinion on the candidates.

"Too skinny," Tim said of one. "We'd never get all the presents under it."

"Too tall," Dick shook his head at another. "We'd never get the star up there."

"Too dry," Bruce determined, rolling a low branch between his fingers and frowning as a cascade of needles fell. "We'd hear nothing but the vacuum cleaner and Alfred's muttering until the day after Christmas."

"Too..." Damian trailed off at the next one, clearly trying to think of an excuse for objecting, and then just chucked a snowball at Tim's stomach. "Too chosen by you," he said.

"...Dami, you know you just used one of your blackballs, right?" Dick pointed out.

"I know. It was worth it."

Tim frowned and brushed the front of his jacket off. "How the hell do you two _live_ with him?"

"Experience," Bruce answered.

"Patience," Dick tacked on.

"Ugh," Damian rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's my turn again."

Around the huge lot they went, tree after tree proving to have some defect that made it impractical for their purposes or imperfect for someone still harboring a snowball in their pocket. Predictably, Damian used his second definitive 'no' on Tim's next choice of tree; his third missile, however, was delivered as a surprise blow.

_Whackwhack...whack!_ Three puffs of cold powder left Dick sputtering as he stood in front of his latest choice, a broad but spindly thing with a crooked trunk. "What was that for?!"

"It's all..." Tim wiggled his hands perpendicular to the ground. "...Curvy."

"And not in a good way," Bruce agreed.

"Oh, come on! It's got thick needles in the places where there aren't...you know...gaps," Dick defended his suggestion. "And the 'curviness' gives it character! Besides, two of you just wasted snowballs," he pointed out.

"...Yeah, why did _you_ throw one, Damian?" Tim inquired. "Bruce and I launched at the same time, so why'd you go afterward?"

"On principle," the boy responded. "This tree looks retarded, Grayson. I'm disappointed."

"You should be! You're out of snowballs now."

"Eh. We'll end up with a decent-looking tree either way. Even if you keep picking ones you feel sorry for, we'll all just say no until you knock it off."

"I didn't pick it because I felt sorry for...oh, whatever," Dick threw up his hands. "C'mon, Tim, your pick. You can thank me later for eating Dami's last snowball for you."

The next three were deemed 'too heavy-looking,' 'too blue-colored,' and 'too squirrel-ridden,' respectively. Following Dick once more, they halted beside a twelve-foot high Noble Fir with impeccable cover. No one said anything,and the three eldest began to exchange hopeful looks. Then, suddenly;

_Whack!_

"You're out of blackballs!" Tim shouted.

"What did I say about aiming for people's faces?" Bruce rumbled. "Dick, are you okay?"

"I was going for his shoulder, I swear!" Damian swore, paling as he realized what he'd done. "Grayson? Um...are you...?"

Dick got up slowly, mopping snow away from his forehead to his chin. A bit around his nose came away bloody, and he examined it for a long moment before he spoke. "...Dami?" he said softly.

"...Yeah?" the boy gulped. "I wasn't aiming for your – gah!"

Bruce and Tim both gaped as Dick tackled Damian, rolled them until he had the upper hand, and then proceeded to playfully whitewash his youngest brother like there was no tomorrow. After a second one of the still-standing pair – neither would ever be convinced to admit that it was he who lost it first – began to laugh, eventually resorting to leaning against one another to keep from collapsing with mirth. Their chortling only echoed away when the other two, now both red-faced and gasping, sat up and looked at each other.

"You done?" Dick asked, a broad grin cracking across his lips.

"...Yeah," Damian acknowledged, unable to keep a decent-sized smile of his own from making an appearance.

"Do you have a legitimate issue with this tree, or did you chuck that at me just to be a dork?"

The child blushed faintly. "This tree's less ugly than your last one, at least."

"Okay. Either of you guys going to blackball me?" he called over.

"Nah, I'm in too good of a mood after that show you just put on," Tim snickered.

"This one's fine," Bruce chuckled, walking over to read a bright orange tag dangling from an eye-level branch. "I'll call the number in so they can come out and cut it down."

"...We're not waiting out _here_ for them to do that, are we?" Damian asked, wrinkling his nose.

"No," Dick plucked a hat out of the snow and plunked it down on the boy's head. "There's a hut back at the parking lot that serves hot chocolate and coffee while you wait for your choice to be brought out. They even put it on top of the car for you." He paused. "See, getting the Christmas tree isn't as bad as you thought it would be, is it?"

"If the hot chocolate is decent, then this will have been a tolerable experience," Damian goaded, his eyes flashing with amusement.

"...I will seriously whitewash you again if you don't agree that tree-hunting is one of the best parts of Christmas."

Suddenly the youth was on his feet, armed with a double glove-load of white powder. Dumping it unceremoniously on top of the man beside him, he took off at a dead run back the way they had come. "You have to catch me first, Grayson!" he taunted over his shoulder.

Dick turned, mouth open in shock and hair full of snow, to meet Tim's eyes. "Timmy," he said with mock gravity, "let's go catch us a demon-child."

"Right behind you," the younger agreed, already reloading his pockets with hastily-made snowballs.

"Bruce, you want in on this? We'll wait for you."

The billionaire considered his first and third sons warmly for a moment, then shook his head. "Go on," he waved them away. "Give him what he's got coming. I'll meet you at the hut," he instructed, "and the drinks are on me."

"Awesome. C'mon, Tim, that little bugger is quick when he wants to be."

"Yup!"

Bruce watched them go, a faint smile still playing about his lips. _With everything they've seen and done in their lives,_ _you would think they would have forgotten how to...well, to frolic, really. But they haven't. They haven't, and I'm here now to see them playing together like...like brothers,_ he marveled. _And I've rarely been more grateful for anything in my life._

* * *

Dusk was falling when Bruce next glanced at the backseat, his eyes drawn there this time by a lack of noise rather than an overabundance of it. _Wore yourselves out,_ his face softened. _Good. A nap won't hurt any of you before patrol._ _A __quiet__ nap,_ he added, sending both Tim and Damian pointless hard looks. _Although so long as Dick keeps an arm around each of you, I don't think I'll hear so much as a peep from back there. Miracle of miracles. _

A yawn caught him off guard, forcing him to admit that the boys slumbering behind him weren't the only ones who had had a long day. _I wonder if the three of them can keep from needing U.N.-level peacekeeping intervention long enough to get the tree inside by themselves. That might give me time for a nap of my own before dinner. _ _In the meantime, though, _another yawn interrupted him,_a little distraction would be good. I can't imagine that I'd fall asleep at the wheel, but..._ His gaze rose to the rearview again. _...I've got three very good reasons to not take that chance._ With that he reached for the radio, snapping it on and letting the first station that came up play.

"_I'll be home for Christmas...you can plan on me..."_ Bing Crosby's voice filled the car at low volume.

Bruce nearly snorted as he recognized the song. "How apropos," he muttered darkly, his hand rising back to the dash.

"Don't," Dick murmured behind him.

"...Dick?" he asked in a low voice, thinking that he was hearing the beginnings of a nightmare and hoping to head it off before it deepened. _Not now. Not after today. Today...I wish Alfred had come today. Today was beautiful. Don't end it in a bad dream, please._

"Don't change it. Leave it on, huh?" Dick opened his eyes just long enough to meet those of the other man. "I like this song. It's...hopeful, you know?"

_Ah, hell, Dicky... _Bruce's lip nearly trembled at the unspoken sentiment in his son's request. _Well...all right. I put you through enough last Christmas just by not being here; leaving this sappy old thing to play is a small price to pay in recompense. _His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel once more. "...Okay, chum. I'll leave it on," he said softly. "Thanks," Dick smiled, then dropped his head back against Tim's and passed out once more. As the song went on, Bruce found his gaze wandering back to the mirror time and again. _It's...it's not such a bad piece, I guess, _he decided as the last notes died out and were replaced with a jaunty tune he didn't know. Swallowing heavily, he was finally able to blink away the tears that had threatened to blur his vision and focus on the road ahead. _It __is__ a bit too damn apropos, but...like you said, kiddo, it's hopeful. _He spared one last glance to the rear, then settled back with an unusually content expression wreathing his face. _I can't fault it for that._

* * *

**Further Note: As I was writing the earlier scenes, I recalled a piece of art on deviantart that inspired the final section. You can check it out on my blog (accessible via my profile page). Happy reading!**


	3. A Seasonal Scheme

**Author's Note: Here's a little Dick/Babs for all of you shippers. It turned out a bit steamier than I'd originally intended, but I think I like it better this way. There's nothing graphic, so no need to worry. Happy reading!**

* * *

Batgirl was crouched atop one of Gotham's middling-height skyscrapers at the end of a long, cold patrol when she became aware of another presence on the roof. _Nightwing. You dork_, she rolled her eyes in exasperated affection, easily able to guess who was watching her. "...Are you going to come out, or are you going to hide back there until dawn and freeze to death?" she called out, purposefully not turning around. "You wouldn't look very good with skin as blue as your stripe, you know."

"I was just enjoying the view," came a playful retort. "Besides, are you saying you _like_ my stripe?"

"First of all," she replied with a mildly catty edge to her voice, "we both know that 'the view' is code for my ass, which I don't recall giving you permission to 'enjoy.' Second, what I said would more accurately be interpreted as a _denigration_ of your costume, not an appreciation of it."

He was at her side suddenly, standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him but far enough away that she had no cause to hit him for touching her without an invitation. "Now that's a disappointment," he whispered silkily.

She gave an unbidden shiver as the words ghosted past her ear. _Cold tonight,_ she told herself sternly. _Very cold. Frigid. Subzero. Glacial. Antarctic..._ As synonyms began to fail her, a question slipped from her lips. "Which part?"

"Hmm?"

"Which _part_?" she repeated. "Which thing is disappointing?"

"Oh. Both, I suppose, but mostly the first part."

"Typical male," she snorted.

"Nah. A _typical_ male wouldn't have followed you all night just to ask you to dance."

Her expression grew incredulous as she finally looked at him. "...You wasted an _entire patrol_ following me around? Do you know how _pissed_ Batman is going to be at you?"

"I stopped to take care of a few things along the way," he waved her comment away. "Besides," a clever smirk lit across his mouth, "he'll only know I tailed you all night if you tell him that you failed to notice me doing so for – what time is it now? – about six hours."

The flash of annoyance she felt at having been spied on the entire evening and now, she suspected, at being coerced into who-knew-what in order to keep her ignorance a secret from her mentor was tempered by a feminine satisfaction at having caused such a puppy-like adoration in the man next to her. "...Clever creeper," she muttered, facing the city once more. "I ought to have you arrested."

"You can't arrest someone for being in love. I should know," his volume dropped, "I'm a cop, remember?"

"Ever heard of stalking, Officer Randy? Also," she hissed, glancing around protectively, "quit talking about things like that out here."

"What can I say," he asked, two fingers rising to brush a single lock of bright red hair back over her shoulder, "other than that I like to live dangerously?"

"Did I say you could touch me?" she arched an eyebrow and tried to ignore the unconsented-to tingling her scalp was doing.

"I like to live dangerously," he echoed himself, grinning, and tugged on the strands still trailing across his glove.

She swallowed hard. _Damn it. I should have let myself turn into a popsicle in Siberia; sharing that blanket has only made things worse now that we're home..._ She had known prior to their pre-Halloween mission that he had a monumental crush on her, of course – everyone knew that much, since he had never made so much as the slightest attempt to hide the fact – and had been aware furthermore that he stirred something strange in her from time to time. In spite of those things, however, she had allowed herself to curl up against him for warmth after their plane had crashed deep in the wild Russian taiga, and even though they had both been too battered and bruised to be anything other than chaste the experience had weakened a key wall in her defenses. Before that night, it had been simple enough to keep him at arm's length; ever since, she'd wanted nothing other than for him to pull her in close again. Now, standing over Gotham with his warmth cutting through the cold cloak of the night once more, she rallied what little resistance she had left and tried to be harsh. _Things have to go back to how they were before. I'll be your friend, Dick, your __best__ friend even, but...not your lover. It just wouldn't work, or...or it would work too well, or...or something. Either way, it's just too dangerous. __You're__ too dangerous. _"So what do you want, Nightwing?" she pressed, stepping away. "What's the price for your silence about having trailed me successfully?"

He extended one hand, his mood seemingly unaffected by her cold shoulder. "Exactly what I said I was following you in order to get; a dance."

_Risky,_ she warned herself, but even her conscience sounded willing to gamble. "...One dance, and you don't say a word to Batman?" The elder vigilante's opinion on the matter of her having been unknowingly followed all night was hardly her primary worry at this point in the proceedings, but she was determined to get _something_ out of the caving-in she felt herself to be right on the edge of doing.

"Not to anyone," he swore, fingers curling to beckon her back to him. "Not ever, if you want. It'll be our little secret."

"And nothing inappropriate," she added. _The last thing I need right now is more temptation..._

"Would I do that? I was raised a gentleman, thank you."

"Sure, but without Agent A. watching, or likely to find out," she countered, finally resting her palm against his, "I wouldn't put it past you."

"So little faith. So little trust," he sighed, drawing her in and beginning a slow, graceful rotation. "Going to have to fix that..."

As soon as she knew he couldn't see, she let her eyes fall shut and drew a deep breath. Under the mingled smells of sweat, rubber, and the city lingered something that was distinctly _him_, and as she caught hold of it she felt his free hand move to her waist. _...That isn't technically an inappropriate hold,_ she excused the gesture. _I'll, uh...I'll let it slide._

"You're not looking," he accused gently.

"At what?" she murmured back. _And how did you know?_

"The city. Look at it, Batgirl."

She obeyed, relaxing as the lights drifted by. "It's prettier than usual tonight," she said before she even realized she was going to speak. "Maybe it's all the Christmas lights."

He chuckled at that, something rumbling pleasantly against her cheek as he did. "I agree."

"...No," she rebutted. "That's a Batman line. You can admit that I'm right."

His fingers tightened against her side. "You're right," he conceded. "Happy?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then so am I."

They spun silently around each other until the city's various bells banged out three o'clock with so little coordination that both dancers winced. "...I hate it when they do that," Batgirl complained as their feet stilled.

"Yeah. But they _did_ remind me of something I might have completely spaced otherwise."

"What's that?" she whispered against his throat as his hand, which had moved some time before from her waist to the small of her back, disappeared.

"My sneak attack."

It took her a second to register what he'd said, but as soon as she comprehended she took a cautious half-step back. "_What_ sneak attack?" she demanded, folding her arms. _ Here I thought you were being sweet and you were planning something lecherous this whole time?_ _Prankster jerk..._

"The one dangling over your head right now."

A frown etched itself across her mouth as she tilted her head back just enough to see what he was talking about. _...Dick, you silly, adorable man,_ her ire fled as she grasped the joke. _I mean, __really__?_

There, hanging from his fingers, was a fresh sprig of mistletoe.

"...Well?" he asked expectantly as she began to laugh.

"Well _what_? You don't actually expect me to kiss you under that stupid weed, do you?"

"That 'stupid weed' is a tradition of the season that goes back many generations," he lectured good-naturedly.

"You're incorrigible," she informed him, shaking her head. "...How long have you been carrying that thing around with you?"

"Just tonight."

"So this was all planned,then? Following me, the dancing...it was all leading up to this moment?"

"Well, yes, but..." His eyes grew thoughtful as they traveled over her face.

"But _what_, Nightdork?"

"But I didn't really think it would work this well, to be honest," he admitted. "I figured you'd spurn it way before I got close to the conclusion, just like you have all my schemes. Well, except Siberia. You liked that one."

Batgirl paled. "...You had better not have done something to _cause_ that plane to crash and leave us stuck in the middle of no-damn-where just so you could make an elaborate pass at me," she threatened.

"I didn't, I swear! It was just an extremely convenient coincidence. Anyway," he shrugged, lowering his prop to his side, "I thought you'd deck me before I even _got_ to the mistletoe, so this was a pretty successful plan, all in all. And let me just say that I'll clear my dance card for you any night of the year, with or without warning," he bowed jokingly. "Maybe one of these days I'll even get to have that kiss I missed out on tonight," his tone sobered as he straightened. "...I think I'll have enough credit built up sooner or later to count as having earned just _one_, don't you?"

And that, really, was the crux of the matter; he _had_ earned it, and there was no way she could deny that fact. Now, with the last vestiges of the heat they'd shared while they danced still dissipating, she was more tempted than ever before to award him his doggedly pursued prize. _...You've come up with ruse after silly, sappy, romantic ruse just to get me to give you five minutes of attention,_ she mused. _Ninety-nine percent of the times you've tried to be more than friends I've brushed you off, but you always come back for more rejection. I've gone so far as to date other guys and talk about them purposefully in front of you, _she winced internally at her own callousness,_ but I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't so much as truly looked at another woman since you started chasing me. You're a strange, smart, corny, and absurdly lovesick man, Dick Grayson, and as hard as I've tried to believe otherwise I think...I think I might really, really like that particular combination. _"How's tomorrow sound?" she ventured, trying to sound flippant but only managing to come off as nervous.

"...Wait, what?" he floundered, caught off guard.

"You said any night, didn't you?" she teased.

"I...yeah, but...you're serious," his voice filled with awe. "You're serious?"

"Hmm," she hummed amusedly, ducking her head to hide the blush she could feel darkening her skin. "Be here tomorrow at two and find out, why don't you?"

"Don't you dare stand me up, pretty lady," he beamed, positively radiating joy.

It was time to leave, past time, really, but some moments come only once in life and her gut was telling her that this was one of them. Snatching the mistletoe from her companion's fingers before she had a chance to try and stop herself, Batgirl shoved it almost violently into the air over their heads, stepped forward, and dragged him down into a rough, needy kiss. "...I don't make promises I don't have intend to keep," she informed him when they broke apart far enough for speech to be possible. "Two o'clock."

"...Right..."

Releasing him, she smiled at the unsteadiness in that single word, then shook the bundle of green leaves and white berries she still held at eye level. "I'll bring this with me."

"I'll, uh...I'll bring one, too..."

"Why?" she queried.

"Well, then you have to kiss me _twice_, don't you? Besides," he added, "it's way more fun when we're on equal ground instead of fighting one-sided battles, don't you think?"

Her head tilted to one side as she considered that. "...Yeah. It kind of is." With that she tucked the mistletoe into her belt, then rose onto her toes and dropped the lightest of pecks beside her new beau's mouth. "...Good night, Nightwing."

"It was," he answered quietly as she took off for the edge of the roof and swung away. "It really, really was..." _Of all the things I've tried,_ he marveled, _I would never have put money on the mistletoe. It's tacky, cliched, overdone...but it __worked__. I'll be damned. _A boyish grin slipped across his lips. _If she liked __that__ Christmas tradition, I can't wait to see her face when I show up at her apartment in a few hours with a partridge and a pear tree..._


	4. The Christmas Day Caper

**Author's Note: I just want to say how much I appreciate the great response and wonderful reviews this series has gotten so far. Thank you!**

* * *

"Good morning, Master Wayne," Alfred greeted warmly as he pushed heavy brocaded curtains aside and let a bit of feeble morning light into his charge's bedroom. "And Merry Christmas, as well, of course."

_...Ugh,_ Bruce thought bitterly, pulling a pillow over his face. _You're going to be chipper as hell all day in spite of everything, aren't you? Well, I refuse to fake being happy. The whole reason I've ever given a damn about celebrating Christmas isn't here, so as far as I'm concerned this is just a weekday on which I can't make any business calls without looking like a grinch. And that's extremely inconvenient, since I plan on going straight down to my study and working until it's time for patrol. _"I thought I said I wanted to skip the fanfare," he grumbled.

"You did, sir," the butler replied, moving to stand beside the bed with a dressing gown held at the ready. "Nevertheless, I thought it only proper to extend to you the warm wishes that are usually given out on this day of the year."

Sensing that the Englishman wasn't going to stand for anything less than at least a begrudging acknowledgment of the date and wasn't likely to let him remain abed any longer, either, the billionaire climbed out from beneath the covers. "...Merry Christmas," he mumbled, frowning atrociously as he shrugged on his robe.

"Thank you, Master Wayne. Now that we've taken care of that formality, I have a light repast ready for you downstairs."

_'Light'? Good, that means you didn't make our usual Christmas breakfast. I think I'd choke on French toast this morning... _"Thanks. I'll take it in the stu-" He broke off, blinking in confusion as he caught sight of the face of his alarm clock. "Alfred, have you lost your mind?"

"I beg pardon, sir?" the Englishman arched an eyebrow at him.

"It's seven o'clock! I've only been in bed for three hours!" he protested. _And I was only asleep for one of those, at best, _was tacked on in his head. He'd tossed and turned long after returning from his Christmas Eve sweep of the city, unable to banish the heavy sense of guilt plaguing him over the fact that, for the first time in a decade, he wouldn't be spending the following day with his son. _If I could just apologize for what I said, _he had lamented, _maybe he'd forgive me. Maybe he'd come home. We've already missed a lot of what we usually do...usually __did__...this time of year, but...at least we'd get to spend the most important day together. _

_ But I've tried, _tears had escaped him as he stared up at the dark ceiling._ I've tried to pick up the phone, and I've failed miserably every time. I would say anything to get you to come back, Dicky, anything in the world, but...what if what I can have to say isn't enough?_ _What if you won't forgive me? As good as you are at that, I couldn't blame you if you weren't able to manage it this time. So you don't want to finish college, _he reflected back on the argument that had marked the beginning of their estrangement some six months earlier. _I didn't exactly set you the best example in that realm, running off to train all over the world when I was fresh out of high school. I want better things for you, but...I should have listened when you told me what __you__ wanted. I still can't believe I accused you of having learned nothing from me...god...why __should__ you forgive me? I want to tell you how sorry I am, but...I couldn't take it if you told me you want nothing to do with me despite my apology. I just...no. This way, not knowing if you would let me have another chance...at least this way there's always that little hope that you might, if I could just manage to ask. You have to understand, chum, I...I'd rather try and live with that than with knowing that you've written me out of your life entirely._

"To be fair, sir," Alfred answered, "this is a full hour later than you would usually be allowed to sleep on Christmas Day."

"Yeah, but that's because Dick-" His voice faltered. "...Dick would never let me sleep past six. You know how he is about...about today." _God, I hope you have a good Christmas, kiddo,_ he wished fervently. _Even if I'm not a part of it, I want it to be good for you. Don't be as miserable today as I am, please._

"I do indeed, Master Wayne. I do indeed." An odd glimmer of something that sounded strangely close to excitement was woven into the butler's tone, but before Bruce could do more than begin to get suspicious about it he'd gone on. "Now come along, please, sir, before your breakfast cools."

"I...yeah, okay," the billionaire shook his head. _It was probably nothing,_ he wrote the unusual note in the other man's voice off as he dragged himself into the corridor. _Nothing, or just a bad attempt at covering up his own sadness. He has one hell of a stiff upper lip, but I know he's been feeling Dick's absence almost as much as I am. _Suppressing a hefty sigh, he glanced across the hall towards the shut door behind which lingered memories of the best years of his life._ Everything's empty again without him here..._

He soaked listlessly in his self-caused misery as he marched down the long, curving staircase, paying no attention to what he was doing and letting his feet navigate the risers from habit. It was only as he drew near to the bottom that he pulled out of his grief enough to notice that the huge entryway had been utterly transformed in the few hours since he'd last crossed it. Jerking to a stop, his eyes took in dozens of yards of garland festooned with bulbs, lights, and ribbons, two miniature Christmas trees, and enough fake snow to fool a reindeer. Everything that could possibly glitter or glow did, adding up to the most over-the-top Yuletide display that he had ever seen staged in the Manor before.

"God _damn_ it, Alfred!" he nearly shouted once he'd recovered from the shock. "This doesn't fucking help!" _I guess that really __was__ excitement I heard a minute ago,_ he fumed, _although why he thought this was a good idea I'll never know...Dick would love this, though. He would __love__ this, and he's not fucking here to see it because I'm a cowardly jackass..._

"Don't yell at Alfred," a painfully familiar voice begged from the shadowy corner at the rear of the staircase. "It was all my idea. I made him stay up all night with me and put it together."

Bruce's head snapped around at the first syllable, his ears pinpointing the speaker in desperate disbelief. _No. No, it...it can't be. But...let it be anyway? Just for a second, let him be here. Let the impossible happen. _"...Dick?" he whispered when the hidden figure had finished. _It has to be. I'd know that voice anywhere, even if it has gotten a little deeper since I heard it last. Either he's here, or I'm literally on the verge of losing my mind._

Then, suddenly, there he was, a bit taller, a bit skinnier, but wearing the exact same bashful smile that had stolen the billionaire's heart ten years before. The younger man came slowly closer, finally stopping two broad strides away from the figure gaping at him from atop the last step. "I just couldn't stand to see the place so bare on Christmas, Bruce," he explained contritely. "I'll take it all down if you want, take it all down and leave, but-"

"No!" The word echoed for a second, the vehemence it carried causing the crystal ornaments to hum in its wake. _You can't leave. Don't leave. Never leave again. _"No. Dick..." He stumbled the short distance to his son and raised trembling hands to cup his face. "You...I...I'm so sorry, chum," came out hoarsely. "Forgive me. Please," he pulled him into a clinging embrace, "please, forgive me."

"Of course," a damp reply was given. "That's why I'm here. I mean...it's Christmas. There's only one place I want to be today, Bruce, and that's...that's wherever you are. I thought you might still be angry at me, but I had to try, you know? I just _had_ to."

"The same way you had to 'make' Alfred help you decorate when you got here?" Bruce joked tearfully.

"Something like that," Dick laughed between his sniffles. They were quiet for a long moment, just holding one another and trying to will the last six and a half months of separation out of existence. "...We have a lot of catching up to do."

"We do," the billionaire nodded, pushing the teen out to arm's length in order to look him up and down and reassure himself once more that he was really there. "How...how long are you...I mean, I know you've set yourself up over in Bludhaven-"

"Of course you do."

"-but...it's not just for today, is it? This? You being here?" _Give me more time than that to savor this, would you? _He pled silently._ One day...you can't tell me everything in just one day. I need to know everything, baby, everything you've been doing. Every joke, every meal, every mission...I've missed so much. I've missed __you__ so much._

"No," he shook his head. "I, uh...I have until the fifteenth of January. I have to patrol across the river some, obviously, but I don't have any other obligations until then."

"I thought you were working?" Bruce puzzled, one hand staying on Dick's shoulder as the other swiped tears away from his own cheeks. "Not that I'm complaining, but...?"

"I was working. It was an okay job, but I quit the day before yesterday. Right...right after I passed my police academy entrance exam," he blushed. "Don't be mad," he tacked on quickly as the figure in front of him stilled. "I know it's dangerous, has crappy hours, doesn't pay well, and won't make you as proud as my graduating college would, but-"

Bruce cut him off by yanking him into another hug. "I have never been prouder of anyone in my entire life," he hissed. "And yes, it's dangerous, and I'm sure the hours and the pay aren't great, but if it makes you happy, Dick...if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy." _My boy's going to be a cop,_ he marveled, swelling with parental joy. _Somehow I feel like I should have seen that coming..._

"...Thank you," he heard a relieved sigh.

"No. Thank you," he insisted. _I don't know that I ever would have worked up the courage to go to you, _he confessed to himself._ But this way...well, you wouldn't have come here just to reject me permanently. You aren't cruel like that, and I know it. You came here because you'd already forgiven me, and as soon as I knew that, Dick, as soon as I saw you standing there, the rest...the rest was so easy._

"Can we never, ever fight again, please?" came a plaintive request, muffled by his robe but still intelligible.

"Absolutely." _I think I'd rather die than go through this again._

"Good. Now," Dick pulled his head up and grinned, "since you aren't going to make me pull everything down after Alfred and I spent all night putting it up, can we go eat the French toast that's been keeping warm in the kitchen for, like, half an hour now? I'm _starving_."

"You look it," Bruce said critically.

"A diet of ramen noodles and breakfast cereal will do that to a person, Master Wayne," the butler, who had watched the entire show from halfway up the stairs and had only just tucked away his moist handkerchief before joining them, said. "But since we have several weeks in which to feed you _proper_ meals, young sir, I believe we can send you off to your Academy with a bit more meat on your bones."

"Where I'll run it all off again-"

"-and then come home for another round of fattening up," the billionaire finished for him.

"For the occasional dinner, at least. I'll probably go right on duty after I graduate." He paused. "...You're going to come to that, right? Graduation? I mean, the reporters are going to be all over you once they hear..."

"I'll beat them off with a stick if I have to," Bruce swore fiercely. "We'll be there, chum, come hell or high water."

"Don't beat them. It would be really, really awkward if _you_ were my first official arrest."

"...Agreed. I'll be nice." Draping an arm around Dick's shoulders, he began to lead him towards the dining room. "Did you say French toast a minute ago?"

"Yup."

"...Alfred, you crafty devil."

"It was all Master Dick's idea, sir. He arrived here shortly after you went to bed and laid out such a marvelously mad caper for this morning that I couldn't refuse. Not on Christmas, at least."

"I don't know how you two pulled all of this together in so little time, let alone without waking me up in the process, but," he squeezed his son tightly, "I'm glad you did." _This is by far the best Christmas present I've ever gotten,_ he couldn't quite force past the lump in his throat.

"Oh, just wait until you see the living room," Dick said giddily as they took their usual seats across from one another, Alfred disappearing into the kitchen to fetch their food.

"...You did the living room, too?" _How__?! _

"It's only a nine-foot-tall, store-bought, utterly fake tree in there," the teen admitted, "but I think it looks good. The parts of it you can see behind all the presents, at least," he laughed.

"...Wait, how did you manage _presents_?" _And how the hell am I supposed to cover up the fact that I didn't buy any because I couldn't imagine that you'd actually be here to open them?_ he panicked silently.

"All that money I haven't been spending for the last half a year is how I managed presents. And relax, Bruce," Dick, all too familiar with his surrogate father's preferred method of showing affection, read the man's unspoken worry easily. "Alfred told me he's been buying everything you've given the 'Dick would like that' look to during the last six weeks and just didn't tell you about it."

"So there's a shopping mall in the living room," the billionaire sagged in relief. _...Alfred, you...thank you._

"More or less, sir," the butler verified with a tiny smirk as he reappeared and placed a heaping plate of pastry before each of his charges. "You can rest assured that everything is as it should be in this house this morning. Now," his expression softened into a pleased smile, "merry Christmas to you both."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred!" Dick returned, already digging in.

"...Merry Christmas, Alfred," Bruce echoed with far more heart than he'd had the first time he had voiced those words that morning. _Now,_ he added as he watched his beaming child attack his breakfast, _it really is one._


	5. Drake's Quandary

**Author's Note: I like this piece's title because it sounds like a mathematical problem, and is therefore very Tim. Anyway, today's offering is a serving of Tim and Dick Batbro fuzzies. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Dick-" Tim started, knocking peremptorily on the door frame as he entered the room. "Gah, sorry!" he exclaimed a second later, slamming his eyes shut.

"Relax, Timmy, it isn't one of yours," the man sitting cross-legged on his bed amongst a bevy of gift-wrapping supplies laughed. "This is Wally's."

"Oh. Good. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for myself."

"Unlike a certain _other_ of my little brothers," Dick spoke to the room at large, "who seems to think that I'm foolish enough to keep his presents in the house when I know him far too well for that."

"...Damian?" Tim guessed.

"Bingo. I'm pretty sure he bugged my room while I was out with Bruce last night, and I want to make sure that he knows that I know."

"You could just remove the bugs. They can't be that well hidden, he's just a kid."

"Sure I could, but this is more fun. He won't find anything out unless I get stupid and outright say what I got him, so there's relatively little risk in leaving them for now. Besides, you would be surprised just how good he is at hiding things. It's kind of sad, actually," he dropped his voice. "It makes me wonder if he had to hide toys and stuff from Talia just to keep her from taking them away. Actually, it kind of just pisses me off, now that I think about it. But let's not talk about that," he shook his head to banish the thought. "I don't want to ruin my good mood. Anyway, you came to me, so what's up?"

Tim moved to the bed, pushing a few rolls of paper aside in order to sit. "Well," he answered hesitantly, "we're kind of already on the topic."

"What, Damian?" Dick stuck an oversized bow on top of the box he'd been working on, considered the finished product for a second, then nodded and set it aside. "What'd he do to you this time?" he asked with a sigh, finally turning his full attention onto his visitor.

"He didn't do anything, amazingly enough. He's been better towards me the last couple months, mostly since Bruce came back and you and I...I don't know, reconciled, made up, whatever. I mean, he's still not really _friendly_ or anything, but at least I don't feel any open resentment from him anymore."

"So what's the problem?"

"Well, I...I don't know what to get him for Christmas," Tim confessed, staring down at his nervously tangled hands. "I mean, the first one he spent here he was being so nasty to me – to everyone, really – that I just picked up something generic. Hell, I only did that much because I knew I'd get looks from you and Alfred both if I didn't give him anything at all. Then last year I wasn't here for the holidays. But this year...he's being nice, you know? And...he stuck with you when I left, even though I didn't think he would. With all of that going, I guess I just feel like I should put more effort into his present this time. The thing is, I've talked myself out of everything I've come up with because I keep seeing that condescending smirk he puts on when he thinks someone's does something stupid. I'm used to getting that look, it's just...I'd kind of like him to _like_ what I give him, that's all." He glanced up to find Dick beaming at him. "...What?"

"Nothing. I just love it. The two of you getting along...that's so great, Tim. I hate it when you guys fight, and the fact that he's been nicer to you for _two months_...I think that's a good sign in his development. That's all," he shrugged happily.

"So...what do I get him?"

Dick glanced suspiciously around the room, then gestured towards the door. "Let's take a walk, huh? Little ears."

"Sure," Tim agreed. A few minutes later he leaned against the wall in a remote section of the house, his expression curious. "Well?"

"Okay, so I think I have the perfect thing. It sounds to me like you maybe want to try and get to know him a little better, right? Like, as more than just someone who does everything he can to annoy you?"

"...Yeah. I guess that kind of _is_ how I feel."

"Good. Then this will be easy. Something I learned early on with Dami is that he didn't really get a lot of normal person-to-person interaction before he came here," Dick explained. "He had plenty of practicing, but not much playing. That's part of the reason he's as...well...standoffish as he is. Being half Bruce probably doesn't help that any, but you get the picture."

"I can see that, sure."

"That was my starting point. I made special efforts to do fun things with him, and with him _in particular_. Motocross, go-kart racing, launching model rockets...he never said as much, of course, but I know he loved it. I know because every time we did one of those things together he opened up just a little bit more to me. He appreciated it, and it showed in his attitude towards me. We still have our outings together, of course, but that doesn't mean that you can't use the same method. Just make sure you pick something he doesn't specifically associate with me, and I don't think he'll see it as you trying to nose your way in."

He paused. "How about snowmobiling? I've never taken him to do that, it's something you guys could do together while he's still on school break, and I think there are a few different places outside of the city that offer it. Maybe you could stop for lunch or an early dinner on your way back, or go to a movie or something afterward. Surprise him with that second part; he'll read it as you wanting to spend more time with him even though you've already been together for a few hours, and on top of that it will be positive reinforcement for if he's nice to you while you're out doing your first activity."

"...You really think it will work that way with _Damian_?" Tim asked uncertainly. "I know it did for you, but...he might not take these sort of advances well coming from me."

Dick sighed. "I know you – and a lot of other people, too – think that he's a complete hell-child, Timmy, but...what no one ever focuses on is that last word; _child_. He might have greater raw knowledge and reasoning abilities than plenty of adults, but he's still a kid emotionally. If you legitimately want to spend time with him and you make an effort to do so, he'll know, and he'll respond. He _wants_ to be loved, Tim, just like everybody else does, but he came to us without having been taught how to respond when someone finally gave him what he'd been being denied probably since the day he was born. You can make this happen, little brother," he dropped a hand onto his shoulder with an encouraging smile, "and in the long run, you'll be giving him a much greater gift than a simple day out."

"Hmm..." A beat passed as Tim considered that. "...Snowmobiling? You're sure?"

"Positive. You two are going to have a great time. Don't worry," he shook him gently, "I'll make sure I have a little talk with him before you go. Not because I think he would try to pull anything, but because I think he's going to be just as nervous and excited about this as you already are."

"How do you know what I'm feeling about this idea?" Tim crossed his arms. "_I'm _not even sure how I feel about it yet for sure!"

Dick chuckled. "You're my brother, Tim. More importantly," his voice softened, "you're one of the closest friends I've ever had, or ever expect to have. That being the case, it's my job to know how you're feeling. Sometimes," he ruffled the younger man's hair playfully, "even before you do."

"Yeah, well...don't ever let anyone tell you you're no good at your job, Dick. They'd be dead wrong."

"...Thanks, Timmy. I appreciate that." He straightened suddenly, looking as if he'd just had another idea. "Speaking of things that I know, I'm fairly confident that you didn't drive all the way up here from the city just to ask me a question. I _also_ know," he plowed on before Tim had a chance to sheepishly admit that he'd done exactly that, "that you and I haven't had much time to just hang out and be bros for a while. Wally's present was the last one I needed to wrap today, and I downloaded some new Call of Duty maps the other night that I haven't even looked at, so..." His eyebrows bounced eagerly. "...Interested in a little co-op?"

"It _has_ been a while," Tim confessed, looking pensive.

"...It's okay if you have other plans. I know I kind of just dropped it on you. I'll take a rain check if you want," Dick said, his tone light even though disappointment shone in his gaze.

"I had some stuff I was going to do, but...screw it, this is going to be way more fun than grocery shopping. I wonder, though...do you think we can get Alfred to make us popcorn this close to dinner?"

"I bet he will if you promise to stay and eat."

"...Okay," he nodded finally. "Then let's do this."

"_Excellent_!"


	6. All Things Being Equal

Bruce Wayne knew many things about many topics, and could translate said knowledge into action at a moment's notice. One of the things he knew best was that his son never missed a post-patrol cookie, and as a result his eyes narrowed when Alfred met him just outside the old clock in the hallway one night in mid-December in order to inform him that Dick had expressed an utter lack of interest in his usual bedtime snack.

"Did he say why?" he asked, frowning heavily. "He's not hurt, is he?" _I shouldn't have let him go out by himself tonight,_ he lambasted himself. _I know I needed to be at the JLA meeting, and the thought of leaving the city unattended is never a pleasant one, but...as skilled and eager as he is, he's still learning. Teenagers make rash decisions, and not even all of the leadership potential he's exhibited lately with Young Justice can convince me that he's not still a typical sixteen year old boy in some ways. Damn it, I should have made him take one of his team mates out with him for backup..._

"He said he was not, sir, and I haven't found any evidence to the contrary," the butler answered, his brow creased with concern. "When he came upstairs he simply informed me that he was home safely, that he was neither hungry nor thirsty, and that he was going to bed. I thought that last part rather odd as well, his not waiting for you to return before retiring for the evening. I can't remember the last time he didn't want to be filled in on one of your meetings as soon as it had concluded. Still, I deemed it best not to pry since he seemed to be in no immediate danger and I knew you would be returning shortly."

"I'll go talk to him," Bruce said, his puzzlement growing. "Maybe it's just something going on at school."

"...Perhaps, sir," Alfred allowed politely even as his expression relayed his heavy doubt. "Although I would point out that he was in a perfectly good temper when he set out on his patrol earlier. Whatever the case may be, I wish you luck."

"Thanks," the billionaire sighed. "Here's hoping that I don't need it."

Two minutes later he pushed Dick's door open quietly and peeked inside, not wanting to wake him if he had managed to fall asleep. His eyes widened in fear as he found the bed empty, the covers that Alfred had turned down earlier still unrumpled. _Where the hell are you?!_ a bolt of panic shot through him as he stepped into the room. _Oh,_ relief came an instant later as he caught sight of the silhouette curled in the window seat. _Jesus, don't scare me like that. _"...Chum?" he asked, drawing up behind him. "Everything okay? Alfred said you skipped your cookie."

"Yeah...I'm okay," the teen's reflection gave him a weak smile. "Just...thinking."

"About anything in particular?" the billionaire inquired, taking a seat at the opposite end of the bench.

"I don't know. I guess maybe not."

"Dicky...c'mon, we both know better than that. Something's bothering you." The only response he received was a long sigh, and he frowned, a bit hurt. "...Did I do something?" he ventured. "Or not do something you thought I would?" Silence. "You used to talk to me about everything. Has...has something changed?" _Say no,_ he begged silently. _Please, please say no. I'm not ready for that stage, not yet, please..._

"Bruce...you didn't do anything. Honest, you didn't."

"I really want to believe you, chum, but you're not making it very easy. To be honest, you're starting to worry me. You say nothing's changed, but you won't tell me about whatever it is that's bugging you. It can't be both ways, you know."

In the faint moonlight, he watched his son close his eyes. "...You want to know something weird, Bruce?" the teen inquired slowly.

"Sure. What is it?" _Tell me anything. Just talk to me._

"I've lived with you half my life."

_...Wait, what?_ "...Yes, you have," he agreed cautiously. "Is...is that what you were thinking about?"

"Well...yeah." A faint sniffle escaped him. "This will be the eighth Christmas we've spent together."

"It will be." He paused. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I know. I am too, I just...I keep thinking about how the numbers are...are even now. Eight Christmases with you...eight with my parents...and I don't know how I _feel_ about it, Bruce. I don't know how I feel, and that really bothers me."

_Whoa. Okay, that was not what I expected. _"You haven't gotten this upset about them in a while," he said gently. "Do you have any idea what triggered it?"

"Y-yeah," Dick nodded, now openly crying as he stared out the window. "It was s-something I saw on patrol."

A dozen possibilities flashed through Bruce's head. _Did someone fall from a building? Was there a criminal tonight who looked like Tony Zucco, maybe? You've seen so many hellish things in your life; what could possibly have set you off like this_? "What did you see, kiddo?"

"I was over by the Washington Bridge, just watching things, and I saw...I saw this family, right? And...and they were leaving a restaurant together. They had a few bags, like they'd been out Christmas shopping earlier and were maybe on their way home for the evening. There were three of them," he breathed. "Two adults and a guy my age. They didn't even _look_ like us, but...but they _acted_ like we used to. They were so close to each other; you could just _tell_. There was so much love there, and you didn't have to look for it to notice it, either. And...I didn't want to think this, I swear to god I didn't, but I wondered...I wondered what it would have been like, growing up the rest of the way with them. With...with my parents.

"So I was thinking about that, not paying any attention at all to what was going on nearby – it's okay if you want to punish me for losing focus, I wouldn't blame you – and I heard the other guy call the woman 'mom.' And I just got so jealous, Bruce," he confessed. "I _hated_ that kid, hated him like I have never hated anyone before. Just because he...he still has his mom, and his dad, and I don't. And that wasn't fair. That wasn't right. I _knew_ it wasn't, but I still wanted to jump down there and just...just punch him right in the face for getting to grow up with his parents when I didn't get to grow up with mine.

"It went away after a minute, once they'd gotten into a cab and driven away, but...but that was when I really started to realize how...how _awful_ what I'd felt was. How unfair. And the whole time I was still out working and then coming home, it just got worse and worse, and...and I feel so guilty now. I feel _terrible_ for thinking that, not so much because I hated that other kid for a second, but...but because for a second – just _one_ second, Bruce, honest, it was just one second, and this has never, ever happened before – I had w-w-wished I had h-_his_ life instead of mine."

His great secret out, he cast a mortified, deeply apologetic look at his guardian, then buried his face against his knees and began to sob miserably. "I'm s-_so_ sorry, Bruce," he moaned. "I didn't m-mean it. I didn't _want _to feel that way...I _don't_ feel that way, I love you, and I love Alfred, and I love the life I have – b-b-but I just _wondered_. I just wanted...I just wish I could kn-know what it would have been like if they...if we...if I..."

_...Oh, baby,_ the billionaire slid close and pulled his son into his arms. _Don't. Don't do this, it's okay...it's okay..._ "Hush, Dicky. Just hush," he crooned. "You have no reason to feel bad about what happened. To be honest, looking back on it I'm kind of surprised that something like this didn't happened earlier." _Then again,_ he added to himself, _you're so damn grateful for everything you've ever been given that I can sort of see it just never occurring to you to be jealous of what other people have. _"It's okay. Listen to me; people wonder about what might have been, and we get jealous when we see someone else with something we feel we were cheated out of. That's just part of being human. I've felt what you felt tonight before, that...that blinding rage," he shared. "It's not pretty, and it's not fun. But it _is_ perfectly natural, especially considering what you were so jealous about."

"...I just wish..."

"Just wish what, chum?" Bruce whispered against his hair.

"I just wish I knew who I would have been if they'd lived. How...how I would have turned out to be, you know?"

_My sweet, silly boy. As if there could be any question as to that. _"You don't have to wonder," he smiled sadly. "I know how you would have been. You would have turned out to be the same kind, warm, intelligent, and giving person that you are now. Do you know how I know that?"

"Huh-uh," Dick hiccuped.

"I know that because those are all qualities that you have possessed since the day I met you. And Dicky-bird, if everything you've seen and done and survived in the eight years I've been lucky enough to spend with you couldn't dampen those aspects of your character, then I can't imagine _anything_ managing to do so." _And I hope like hell that if there __is__ something out there capable of achieving that feat you never meet it,_ he prayed.

"You...you really think I'd be basically the same person I am now?" the teen raised his head from Bruce's shoulder just enough to peer at him curiously. "Just...just with different experiences?"

"I am absolutely positive that you would be, Dick."

"...Huh." With that, he laid his cheek back where it had been a moment before. They sat silently for several long minutes before he spoke again. "...Bruce?"

"Hmm?" the billionaire hummed back, gently rocking the still figure in his arms.

"I think I have a theory about why what I've seen since I've been with you hasn't changed who I am."

"And what's that?"

"Well...remember what I said about how that family I saw just, like, radiated love?"

"I remember."

"When I went from living with my parents to living with you...everything changed when that happened. Everything except that. That's always been the same; I've always felt loved. I've always _been_ loved. And I think that was what saved the person I was before I met you, and let him keep living."

Bruce had stopped swaying, and simply sat staring wetly into the darkness. "...I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that, chum," he murmured, his voice strained. _You know, _he cried internally._ Oh, thank god, you __know__, even though I've never been able to say it. You know..._

"Anyway," Dick went on as if he hadn't just reduced the man beside him to tears, "I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings earlier when I didn't want to talk to you. I just thought...well, I thought if I _did_ tell you that that would hurt worse. I didn't want you to think I was ungrateful for...well, for everything," he sighed, "or that I don't love you back. I was just...I was just really ashamed of myself, that's all."

"I understand," Bruce gathered himself enough to say. "And I wouldn't have thought either of those things, because I know you better than that. But Dick?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Don't be ashamed of how you felt. Instead, be proud of how you handled it. You didn't punch that kid, you've already acknowledged the fact that your strong emotions distracted you from your patrol – and I'm _not_ going to punish you for that, by the way, not given the circumstances – and most importantly you didn't let this fester inside you the way some people would have." _Like __I__ would have,_ he tacked on in his head. "The only correction I have any reason to give you for your actions tonight is a reminder that you can _always_ talk to me, even if you think what you have to say will hurt my feelings. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll try."

"Good." He squeezed him tight for a moment, then released him. "Now, I know it's past your usual weekend bedtime, but...Alfred mentioned earlier that he was going to spend part of the evening getting started on the Christmas cookies for the Foundation children's party."

Dick arched an interested eyebrow. "...Do you think he might require the services of the Wayne Manor baked-goods reject elimination squad?" he asked hopefully.

"We _do_ save on garbage."

"And you know how Alfred hates waste."

"Right."

"Right!" A smile beginning to curve his lips back up to their usual position, the teen hopped down from the window seat. "So what are we waiting for? We're being kind of lax in our duties just sitting up here, don't you think?" he winked.

Bruce nearly snorted. "Lead the way," he gestured towards the door. "I'm right behind you." _Always and forever, chum,_ he added in his head. _Always and forever._


	7. Three Gifts Wrapped in a Mystery

**Author's Note: Here's a little bro-tastic YJ-style Christmas. For those of you who aren't familiar with Secret Santa, the general rules are that you draw a name and secretly give that person a certain number of small, inexpensive gifts over a period of several days or weeks. Some groups put an emphasis on trying to figure out your Santa, others don't, but it usually comes out in the end regardless. Happy reading!**

* * *

The only thing that Wally disliked about spending weekends fighting crime with his friends was that it meant he missed out on his Aunt Iris' huge Sunday morning breakfast spreads. There was, in his stomach's opinion, simply no substitute for the literal piles of food that marched from her kitchen to the table every seventh day, and he had long ago resigned himself to working his way through a box of cereal or an equally crunchy dozen eggs cooked by M'gann instead while he envied his uncle, whom he knew was getting to partake without him. It had become habit by now for his Sunday mornings to be gastronomically unsatisfying, which was why his eyes nearly widened their way out of their sockets when he opened his door three weeks before Christmas and found a very large covered platter on the floor outside.

For a moment he was suspicious. _Is this is a prank?_ He glanced down the hall in both directions, craning his neck to try and spot one of his teammates waiting for him to take the bait. _Or...maybe we were infiltrated in the night? This could be, like, a bomb or something. Except...bombs don't usually smell __good__,_ he gave a little moan as a whiff of bacon reached his nose. _And no one else has anything in front of their room. I think I would have heard if there was a fight, so...huh._ He was scratching his head, still puzzling, when the last thing he'd done before leaving the Mountain the week prior hit him. _Oh,wait...I'll bet this is from my Secret Santa!_

It had been Robin's idea to do Secret Santa, he remembered, flashing back to the younger teen explaining the rules and urging them all to draw a name from a bowl and start thinking of good presents. At the time the whole thing had sounded like a bit of a hassle to Wally, who had very little money and wasn't known for his knack for choosing suitable gifts for others. As he scooped up the weighty tray and carried it triumphantly to his desk, however, he decided that he would never complain about participating again if it meant he got free meals delivered to his door. _Oho, man,_ his delirious joy grew as he sneaked a sniff of what awaited him and a heavy waft of meat, eggs, and pastry assaulted his nose. _This is gonna be an epic breakfast._

He tossed the domed lid aside_, _then stopped short as he found a piece of plain white paper, folded in half and protected by a Ziploc bag, atop his food. _Crap. Why did they have to include a letter? _he groused. _Can't a guy just have a meal without a bunch of reading beforehand? I __could__ just leave it for later, but..._ But then, he knew, the undone work would plague him the entire time he ate, tainting his enjoyment. _I might as well just get it over with so I can eat in peace. Maybe I'll even have time to crawl back into bed for a while before anyone comes looking for me. At least this letter looks short..._

It was short indeed, he discovered once he'd licked the bacon grease off of the plastic and removed the sheet. "Who is your Secret Santa?" he read aloud. _...Oh, yeah, I forgot Rob said we're supposed to try and figure out who's giving us gifts. Hmm...well, I don't know,_ he shrugged, crumpling the five typed words up and throwing them somewhere behind him, _and I don't really care._ _All I know is that whoever they are, they really – _he took his first bite and moaned – _really__ know how to cook, and are therefore the best Secret Santa ever._

* * *

For the next seven days, Wally salivated every time his mind wandered back to the repast he'd been left the Sunday before. The mystery that he had so casually ignored at first began to plague him almost as much as the remembered flavors that ghosted across his tongue in his weaker moments; who, he wondered with increasing urgency, was his Secret Santa? He had eliminated M'gann easily – unless she'd had some serious help, there was no way she had produced the previous week's meal – but he _had_ to know which of his other teammates had been cruelly harboring their talents as a gourmet cook all this time, and soon. With that desire burning in the pit of his stomach he watched his friends extra carefully all through Friday night and Saturday, searching for anything that might give them away.

He learned nothing new other than that Artemis, whose name he had drawn, loved the practical wool scarf he'd found at a thrift store and loathed the flowery perfume he'd purchased with a combination of a week's allowance and every coin he'd been able to find in the gutters and under the couch cushions. She hadn't figured out her Secret Santa yet, she revealed, a fact for which Wally was remarkably grateful when she wrinkled her nose at the second gift she received anonymously. It seemed that no one had deciphered who their giver was by the time they all turned in following an easy mission on Saturday night, although Robin went to bed wearing a slightly smug look that suggested he had a good bead on where his gifts were originating from. _I wish I could have him help me figure out who my person is, but I know he'd say that's not how the game works,_ Wally sighed as he climbed under his covers. _Besides, he'd probably be ticked that I 'destroyed the evidence' that came with my breakfast. Still, though, if anyone could make sure I knew who I have to bribe to keep getting food like that brought to me, it would be Rob..._

It was with that in mind that he fell asleep, waking the next day to leap from his bed and bolt to the door in the hopes of finding another platter. A mighty frown of disappointment dragged the corners of his mouth southward when he found only a neatly wrapped package the size of a Chinese take-out container waiting for him. _Dang. I thought maybe...well, hey, at least I get to start the day with a present of some kind,_ he tried to buck himself up._ That's better than how most normal Sundays start, even if I am stuck with cereal or shell-y eggs to eat again today. _Looking both ways just as he had a week prior, he collected the gift and took it back into his room, dropping semi-morosely onto the bed. _Who knows, maybe whatever's in here actually __is__ edible..._

His hopes were dashed as he opened the box to reveal a red-and-yellow rubber ball nestled on a bed of cotton fluff. Another note, this one typed on green paper to ensure that it stood out from its surroundings, was tucked alongside. ..._A superball?_ he mused, peering down at it. _Don't get me wrong, they're neat and all, but...this is nowhere near as awesome a gift as last week's. Then again, I'm not exactly batting a thousand in this game, either, so who am I to judge? At least what I got doesn't smell like rotten flowers._

Hoping that the paper would lend him some idea as to who he should be tracking down at this very moment in order to beg them to make him breakfast again, he unfolded it. "...Directions?" he scoffed at the first word. "Who needs directions to use a superball? You just throw it at the ground as hard as you can to make it go high, everyone knows that. Why are there so many steps?" Shaking his head, he began to read through them, his respect for whoever had drawn his name growing with every sentence.

_Directions for optimal use of the enclosed superball:_

_Find Superboy, and convince him to go to the gym with you. Make sure there's no one else in the room before you go on to the next step!_

_Get him to throw the ball hard enough that it will bounce all over the place, but __not__ hard enough that it will damage anything. He should be able to get it going pretty fast without going through any walls._

_Chase the superball while it's pinging all over the place at high speed._

_While you're doing this, think about the answer to the following question: who is your Secret Santa?_

"I've _been_ trying to answer that question," Wally groaned. "Somehow I don't think chasing this thing," he tweezed the toy between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, "around the gym is going to help me solve it. Although..." his eyes slid to the directions again, "it _does_ kind of sound like fun. Plus, if Superboy throws it hard enough and doesn't get bored right away I could probably ask to count it towards my training time this week. Pivot practice, or something." He rolled the ball around the palm of his hand briefly, then stood. "Okay. I have to try this," he decided. "Plus...hey!" his eyes lit up suddenly. _Conner wouldn't tell me to go looking for him if __he__ was my Secret Santa,_ he reasoned. _I don't even think he knows what a superball __is__._ _Introducing Superboy to a superball...this is going to be even more fun than I thought. And better yet, _he grinned proudly as he shot into the hallway in search of the clone, _I've knocked my Secret Santa search down to three suspects. I'm one person closer to another perfect breakfast..._

* * *

While he _did_ have a ridiculous amount of fun chasing the small rubber sphere as it pinged around the gym – tracking some of the reverses that the ball did once it had been tossed by one of the strongest beings on the planet was much trickier than he'd thought it would be, which kept things interesting – he made no further progress on unmasking his Secret Santa. Anticipation racked him all through the next week, the last there was before Christmas. _Whoever it is, they've got to tell me before I come home on Sunday,_ he thought jitterily as he prepared to head for the Mountain after school on Friday. _They won't make me wait until after Christmas; none of them are __that__ mean._

Sunday morning, he was certain, would bring him the solution he was craving. Before it could roll around, though, the team was summoned for the oddest mission briefing he had ever attended in his life.

"...Robin, Kid Flash," Batman rumbled their names on the screen, "this job requires your combined skills. The rest of you," he directed at the other two-thirds of Young Justice, "may return to what you were doing. Remain on standby in case something comes up while they are out."

"Yes, Batman," Kaldur nodded politely. "We'll be ready if you need anything."

"Good." He waited until the other four teens had exchanged quizzical looks and departed, then went on. "...Robin, you'll be in charge on this mission because you know the area. Head for the docks on the south side of the industrial district. There will be roughly two dozen men on a freighter called the _Constance Marie_ preparing to head downriver. On that freighter is a load of stolen gems and exotic animal parts, all intended for the black market. Your job is to take control of the boat and turn it over to the police. When you've finished, return to the Batcave to be debriefed. Is that understood?"

"Got it!" Robin agreed.

"Good. Then I will see you at home. Good luck, and...be careful." With that, he was gone.

"...Dude, this is weird," KF opined. "It's just the two of us? And where the heck are we even _going_?"

"_Gotham_, you total dork," Robin laughed. "Besides, this'll be fun, right? I mean, stolen jewelry and animal parts? We can totally stop this shipment. Besides," he pointed out, "it's been _ages_ since we got to do a mission that was just, you know, the two of us."

"That's true," Wally agreed slowly. Seeing the younger male's slightly crestfallen expression at his lack of ardor, he nudged him with his elbow. "C'mon, bro, smile. I'm excited, honest. It's going to be awesome. A mission in Gotham? _Wicked." This __is__ going to be cool,_ he decided._ We don't get much time to hang out without others around anymore, and, well...I miss that._

"Well, let's head out, then!" the raven-haired boy exclaimed, his mood rebounding immediately. "We're wasting time!"

"Race you to the Zeta tube!" Chortling, Kid Flash vanished, catching just the beginning of Robin's amused cursing before he was out of earshot. _Tonight, a Gotham job with Rob,_ he rhymed happily to himself, the idea having swiftly planted roots in his mind, _and tomorrow, I learn who I have to harass to get more of those amazing eggs from the first Secret Santa weekend. This is turning out to be a pretty sweet weekend, after all._

* * *

Two hours later they stood in the dark beside the dank waters of the Gotham River and watched as police swarmed over the boat they'd turned in only minutes earlier. "We kicked serious butt," Robin stated, sounding pleased.

"We _always_ kick serious butt," Kid Flash replied. "Bump it," he requested, holding out his fist.

"Boom," they joked simultaneously as their knuckles connected.

"Aah," the redhead stretched a second later, then dropped to the ground with his legs out in front of him. "Bro, let me just say, that flip-handspring thing you did? That was sick."

"You mean the one where I kicked one guy in the face, then used the momentum from that to vault backwards and kick that _other_ guy in the face, too?" Robin's teeth flashed in the dark as he joined his friend in the dirt.

"Yup. They looked _so freaking surprised._ I love it when you blow people's minds like that."

"You want to talk about blowing minds, you should have seen the captain's jaw drop when he came out onto the deck and watched three of his men go down inside of two seconds because you were speeding between them so fast. I thought his head was going to explode from the sheer awesomeness."

"Oh, man, I was in a total zone right then. It was great." He sighed. "I just wish I could figure out my Secret Santa as easily as we took out all those goons. Why aren't mysteries as straightforward as running and hitting people? Seriously, I _cannot_ figure this thing out!"

"...Well, maybe I can help."

"Really?! It's not, you know, against the spirit of the game, or whatever?"

"Eh. It's the last day of the last weekend. We're all going to find out who our Secret Santas are before we leave the Mountain for Christmas, so...yeah, I can help."

"Oh, man, that's great." _Rob will figure this out in no time, I just know it, _he thought giddily. "Okay, so here's what I kn-" He broke off as a folded piece of paper appeared between two of Robin's gloved fingers and was held out to him. "...Dude, where did that thing come from?"

"It's my help, KF. Take it."

"Ookay," he frowned and did as he'd been told. "'Who is your Secret Santa?' Wait, that's what the other papers...oh, _shit_, Rob!" he jumped to his feet, flabbergasted. "_You've_ been my Secret Santa this whole time?"

"This whole time," the smaller boy cackled, clearly amused by his friend's response. "It's been fantastic."

"But...the food. You can't cook like that, can you? Seriously, bro, tell me that you can and that you'll make me Sunday breakfast every week just like that first week. I'll pay you, honest to God," KF swore.

"That was Agent A, not me," Robin revealed. "He showed me how to do some basic cooking stuff – learning to make myself real food on my own was the price he extracted in exchange for the smorgasbord – but I'm nowhere near his level. The superball," he went on, "that was just _fun_. I got it out of a machine on a total whim, and when it came out yellow and red I knew I _had_ to work it into your presents somehow. Tonight...tonight was the big one," he confided. "It took me two weeks to convince Batman to let us do this job ourselves. He was probably watching the whole time, but that's okay. It was still wicked, especially since we hadn't been on a mission without the team for so long."

"It was _totally_ wicked. Rob...bro...seriously, you're the best Secret Santa ever."

"I dunno, KF, I think Superboy might disagree with you."

"...What's he got to do with it?"

"Heh. _His_ Secret Santa gave him a big, sloppy kiss for a third present."

"Not Artemis?" Kid Flash asked urgently.

"Relax, would you? She's still wide open, and I heard she _really_ liked her third present. No, Miss M was Superboy's Secret Santa."

"...Huh. So...what, he liked that she kissed him?"

"Uh, _yeah_. Have you not noticed the looks they've been sending each other for, like, two months?"

"I guess not. Still...no offense, bro, but I'd rather bust baddies together than have you kiss me. Just sayin'."

"Seconded. _But_," he went on jestingly, "you'll still sleep over even if I don't kiss you, right?"

"Well, yeah. Duh."

"Good!" Robin stated, also climbing to his feet. "Because I got permission for us to not go back to the Mountain until morning. _After_ breakfast," he smirked.

"...Is Al-Agent A cooking?" KF had to swallow hard to keep from drooling.

"Are those dudes on the boat totally busted? _Of course _he is! I had to sit through a ten minute lecture on proper meat thermometer use and the dangers of undercooked meat, but he's making septuple servings of everything, so...it was worth it. Anyway, you ready?"

"Oh, I'm ready. Ready to eat."

"You've got to _sleep _first, KF. It's not going to be ready when we get back, it's only one in the morning."

"Okay, so we sleep first. Either way, I get another one of those delicious breakfasts when I wake up, so...screw Miss M kissing Superboy. That's great for them and all, but you're still the best Secret Santa ever."

"Maybe," Robin shrugged, grinning at the compliment. "But even if I'm not...Merry Christmas, bro."

Their fists bumped again. "Yup," KF agreed, "merry Christmas, bro-Santa. Merry awesome Christmas."


	8. The Counsel of Giving

**Author's Note: A couple of people were curious as to the full YJ Secret Santa lineup from yesterday's story, so I've posted what was in my head on my blog, which is accessible from my fanfic profile page. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Okay, everyone, let's bring this meeting to order," Superman said genially, trying to catch the attention of the people gathered in the Batcave. When the hubbub didn't reduce by so much as a decibel, he sighed and tried again. "Folks-"

"Quiet," Batman growled low beside him. Heads turned as the word undercut their chatter, and the small assembly quickly settled down.

"...Thanks," Superman went on. "Okay, I assume we all know why we're here?"

"Because Nightwing is ridiculously hard to shop for," Red Robin, leaning against a table, contributed.

"Right," the Kryptonian nodded. "Because we're all having trouble coming up with something suitable for him for Christmas."

"And because you just _know_ that whatever he's cooking up for each of us is going to be the most personal and well-thought-out present ever," Flash tacked on.

"He does have a talent for gift giving," Wonder Woman agreed. "The problem on our end, I think, is that there really isn't anything he seems to need-"

"And anything he wants he can just buy," Batman cut her off with a grimace.

"Which is your fault," Robin pointed out, smirking.

"...Partially, yes."

"I've spent _days_ looking for something for him online," Oracle confessed. "I found plenty of options, all things that he would like and that he probably wouldn't think to just go out and get in the course of a normal day, but...none of them felt _right_. I want to give him something this year that will leave him really...really speechless." As she spoke she reached up to touch the chain her heavy engagement ring hung from when she was in costume. It, and the simple but sweet proposal that had come with it, had been Nightwing's Christmas present to her twelve months earlier, and no one was surprised that she wanted to try and match it this year.

"_You_ should have an easy time figuring out how to leave him 'speechless,'" Robin directed snidely at his future sister-in-law. "You'd barely even have to do anything. Just lay there."

"Robin!" Batman snarled.

"Jesus, dude, really?" Flash shifted uncomfortably.

"Typical," Red Robin muttered.

Oracle gave the boy a cold look. "Not that it's any of your business, but I don't withhold sex so that I can give it out as a present," she snapped. "I should tell him you said that."

Her threat seemed to do more to shame the youngest member of the group than any of the other disgusted looks or comments he'd received had, causing him to tighten his lips and duck his head. Something that might have been a begrudging 'sorry' escaped him, and after a moment the accusatory silence that followed was broken.

"Leaving the young master's utterly inappropriate remark aside," Alfred, who was the only unmasked figure in the cave, shot Robin a glance that warned him he had not yet heard the last on that count, "I find myself in the same predicament. No matter how grateful he always is for what he's given, I consistently find myself feeling as if I could have done better."

"Yeah," several other voices concurred.

"So what do we do about it?" Flash asked. "We don't have time to brainstorm eight different perfect presents tonight, if that many even _exist_ for him."

"Agreed," Batman said dourly. "He was suspicious as it was when I asked him to patrol by himself for the first part of the night so that Robin and I could supposedly train one-on-one. If he comes home and finds us all standing around in costume with no emergency to explain it, he'll know we're planning something. We need to expedite this process."

"What if..." Red Robin started, then stopped. "...What if instead of eight different presents, we all gave him different parts of one _big_ present?"

Glances were exchanged across the rough circle they had formed. "I like that idea," Superman voiced finally.

"It would simplify things rather a lot," Alfred nodded along.

"He'd love it," Oracle stated. "The thought of all of us working together on something just for him would be enough to tickle him pink by itself."

"But what do we work together on?" Flash inquired. "Something big, okay, I get that, but..._what_? What's big enough for us all to have a hand in that's also something he would really, really want?"

"World peace leaps to mind," Robin snorted.

"Something attainable," Wonder Woman corrected gently. "Can anyone think of something he's wanted for a long time, maybe? Some...I don't know, some dream we can fulfill?"

"World peace or elephants doing acrobatics," Robin tacked on to his earlier suggestion. "What?!" he glared when seven 'you're not helping' looks were turned on him. "It's not _my_ fault if none of you take him seriously when he goes off on one of his dumb tangents about things that he hopes he sees in his lifetime."

"Oh, and I suppose you _were_ taking him seriously?" Red Robin sniped, crossing his arms.

"It was _my_ suggestion, wasn't it?" was volleyed back.

"You know what he'd probably really like?" Oracle interrupted them, her voice annoyed. "For you two to _not_ kill each other in the middle of this discussion."

"...You're right. I'm sorry," the elder of the combatants backed off.

"That's not something we can all do together," the younger said sarcastically.

"If you don't knock it off, Robin, 'we' will no longer include you for the purposes of this project," Batman interjected.

"Hey, I'm the only one who's even come up with anything so far!" the boy argued.

"He's just trying to help in his own way, Batman," Wonder Woman counseled. "I know Robin wants Nightwing's present to be a success just as much as the rest of us do. Surely you can give him another chance?"

"...Watch your mouth," the cowled figure warned his son sternly.

Another beat passed. "Well, at least elephants doing acrobatics is hypothetically feasible," Superman played with the idea. "And your lawn _would_ be big enough..."

"_No,_" Batman squashed the suggestion. "He'd want to keep the damn things."

"...Yeah," another round of acknowledgment swept around the circle, followed by pensive quiet. Eight pairs of eyes stared blankly at the floor or gazed into distant corners as they all struggled with the question they'd come together to solve.

"Ah!" a sudden exclamation tore from Alfred's lips as he snapped his fingers. "I'll be damned, sir – pardon my language, I beg of you – but I think I've struck upon a solution."

"What is it?" Batman asked as the group's full attention fell on the butler.

"It's quite simple, really. There _is_ something that he has wanted for a very long time – nearly as long as I've known him, in fact – that he never received. He stopped talking about it after Master Ja-...many years ago," he corrected himself quickly, "but I'm absolutely positive it would delight him still."

"...What is it, Alfred?" Red Robin asked quizzically.

"Yeah, what are you thinking?" Flash leaned forward curiously.

"A family vacation," the Englishman said softly. "He hinted at the idea _constantly_ as a child, but it never worked out. And now that the family is growing," he sent a small but warm smile in Oracle's direction, "it seems as good a time as any to finally take one, don't you agree?"

"...Oh, wow," Red Robin whispered, impressed. "Yeah. Yeah, Alfred, that's...that's _perfect_."

Wonder Woman fairly squealed. "Oh, I remember him telling me about wanting to do that once," she beamed. "He'll adore it. Bruce, take him, won't you? Take all of them, god knows they've waited long enough, especially Dick."

"We're in costume," the black-armored man spat angrily. "Don't use our names. As for the vacation...I'll think about it."

"We're in the safety of the cave, and amongst people we all know and trust," Superman backed Wonder Woman up. "Besides...she has a point. You've _never_ done this with him, or with them," he indicated the other members of his friend's family. "Maybe this is the time to finally grab that bull by the horns."

"...Maybe. It's worthy of consideration," Batman defended himself as several annoyed sighs were heard, "but I'm not just going to say 'yes' to something that...huge...without giving it thought."

"It'll never happen," Robin said flatly. "It _was_ a good idea," he directed a rare compliment to Alfred, "but it will never happen."

"I said I would consider it," Batman ground out.

"And after you do that you'll say no, just like you always have before."

"...Robin, I'm done arguing with you tonight. Get changed and go to-"

"He's right," Red Robin broke in. "You can't get mad at him for being right."

"...Whoa," Flash boggled in the shocked silence that followed. "You two _agree_ on something?"

"They may agree, but that just makes them both wrong," Batman, recovered slightly from the unexpected alliance of his two youngest, brushed the phenomenon off.

"Are they indeed, sir?" Alfred broached, arching one eyebrow doubtfully.

"It won't happen," Robin spoke up again, emboldened by his back-up. "You'll say that you can't take time off from work right now, and that even if you could it would be impossible to sync up all six of our civilian schedules so that we could go somewhere."

"And if that somehow worked out," Red Robin added, "you'd bring up patrol, and how we can't all four be absent from Gotham at the same time or the place will somehow burn itself to the ground despite having survived for three centuries before there was even _one_ person running the roofs at night."

"Then the argument of your social obligations would be called into action," Alfred picked up, "even though after the holidays is the slowest time of the year for the bulk of your organizations, you aren't currently involved with anyone who might expect to be taken along, and the media would be beside themselves with joy at the new photo opportunities a foreign backdrop would bring."

"Like I said," Robin shrugged. "You'll say no. It's probably the one thing he would want most in the world that we could actually give him, and it's not going to happen because of _you_."

Batman gaped at them, then turned to find Superman, Wonder Woman, Oracle, and Flash all giving him sad, knowing looks. "I can't believe this," he muttered, his protestation bringing his voice back up almost to its civilian depth. "You all really believe _I_ would be the one to spoil this?"

"To be fair, Bruce," the Kryptonian reminded him, "You've managed to not do this exact thing for going on twenty years by utilizing all three of those excuses."

"It's not like I don't want to make him happy, Clark, but the logistics are a _nightmare_. They were a nightmare when he was a boy, and they'd be six times _worse_ now. Despite knowing that, I said I'd think about it, didn't I? I'm willing to give it serious consideration, but I'm _not_ going to make a decision on the spur of the moment!"

Oracle rolled her chair across the circle suddenly and came to a stop directly in front of Batman. Her jaw set, she peered up at him. "Think about this while you're deciding to say no," she directed evenly. "Think about his face. Think about the absurd, shit-eatingly happy grin that would come across his face when he heard that you were _finally_ going to give him something he's wanted almost his entire life. A week, Bruce. Just one week," she insisted. "Is that really so much for him to ask for from you? Or from any of us, for that matter? Because I don't think it is, and I think if you give yourself five minutes to think about more than just the cons of this plan you won't think it is, either."

He stared down at the brazen, determined woman his son had fallen so hard for and knew that there was no rebuttal he could offer that would soothe the guilt growing in the back of his mind. "The logistics..." he tried to rally.

"Are navigable," her gaze hardened.

"This is a group present, remember?" Superman pitched in. "If the eight of us together can't figure out how to manage a vacation, the world has serious reason to worry the next time there's an invasion or someone nasty gets out of line."

"Exactly," Wonder Woman said, drawing up beside her stubborn, wavering friend and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Take the kids and Alfred and go somewhere with them. Have fun, make good memories. Flash, Superman, and I will take care of Gotham, won't we, boys?"

"No problem," the Kryptonian agreed immediately. "And rearranging the JLA schedule won't be an issue, either. Everyone _else_ takes vacations and their duties covered, so fair's fair. It's your turn."

"I'm in, all the way," Flash nodded. "C'mon, you _know_ he's going to be deliriously happy from the minute you tell him until the minute everyone's told him to shut up because they're sick of hearing his stories about it after you all get back."

"January and February are slow months for the company, sir," Alfred pointed out. "At least, you always seem to complain about needing more to do at work around that time of year."

"Bruce," Red Robin urged, "say yes. Let's do this. You _know_ he's going to love it, and we're all willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen."

"All right!" Batman exclaimed finally. "All right. Fine. We'll do," he took a deep breath, "the vacation. For a week."

"I think two is rather more appropriate, given the amount of time he's waited to have one," Alfred took advantage of his charge's rare weak moment. "Unless that will be too much strain on those filling in...?"

"Nope."

"Not at all."

"Whatever it takes, man."

"...Ten days," Batman counter-offered unhappily.

"As you wish, sir," the butler conceded, a pleased twinkle in his gaze at having gotten the man to budge not once but twice in a single evening. "Ten days in...where shall we take him?"

"Hawaii," Oracle answered instantly. "He's told me about twenty times that he wants to honeymoon there because he's somehow never been, but I think he'd like going there as a family even more."

"He hasn't even been there for a mission?" Superman asked, surprised. "Huh. I didn't realize that."

"That's what he says," the redheaded woman shrugged. "I know _I_ don't recall him ever being sent there."

"...Hawaii," Batman said dully. "All the way across the country. Isn't there somewhere closer he'd want to go? What if something happens back here?"

"We'll take care of it!" three exasperated voices chorused.

"All _right_! Christ..." he retreated, sulking.

"...So, is that it?" Flash asked after a beat had passed with no further argument.

"There's still a great deal to be planned, but much of that work will be part of my contribution to our enterprise," Alfred told him. "I'll pass along information to you all as it comes together."

"We're done for tonight," the cave's owner ruled. "He's going to start calling in if we wait too much longer to join him. We need to go."

"That's fine. Superman and I have duties to attend to at the Watchtower, in any case," Wonder Woman said.

"And I have to run home," Flash joked lamely, "for my own patrol."

"I'll change and come upstairs to help plan if you want, Alfred," Oracle volunteered. "Unless you need computer backup tonight, Batman?"

"...No, go ahead with Alfred. I'll call in when we're on our way back so that you can leave; he'll know something's going on if you're upstairs this late without him knowing ahead of time."

"Great. I don't want him figuring this out before the reveal," she said, finally backing away from his knees. "...Which I think you should do, by the way."

"I'm...amenable to that," Batman replied.

"Wear a camera, huh?" Superman clapped him on the back before heading towards the Zeta tube. "I'm not going to barge in on your Christmas, but I _do_ want to see his face when you tell him."

"And let us know if there's anything else we can do to help!" Wonder Woman called just before the pair of them vanished.

"Think I'll beam over to the Mountain and go from there," Flash trailed after the just-departed heroes. "See you all later. And, uh, Batman?"

"What?"

"This is going to make Dick really, really happy. I just...wanted you to know that." With that he, too, was gone.

"...Well, Miss Barbara," Alfred said once the family was alone, "if you'd like to get changed, I'll go on ahead upstairs and make us a pot of tea for while we work. Unless you'd prefer something else?"

"Tea is good," she nodded. "I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Two sugars?"

"Right."

"Very good. Sir," the butler addressed his employer, "I will see you when you get home. Master Tim, I will see you at dinner tomorrow, correct? It's Sunday," he reminded.

"I'll be here."

"Excellent. Master Damian," he turned imperiously to his youngest charge, "I ought to take you to task for your nasty comment earlier. However, unless Miss Barbara objects I will let it slide, if only because you were a vital component in forcing a decision in our favor."

"I'm standing right here," Batman snarked.

"I won't tell Dick what you said," Babs promised, ignoring the cowled figure's griping, "on one condition."

"That being?" the boy asked cautiously.

"Come up with something special for just you and Dick to do while we're in Hawaii."

"...Anything I want?"

"Anything you want that he'll like, too. Okay?"

"...I suppose that's an acceptable trade," he answered, his aloof tone not quite managing to hide his excitement at the prospect of selecting an activity for their vacation.

"Good," she smiled, signaling her forgiveness. "And Bruce?" she turned back to the shadow lurking behind everyone else. "Thank you." Touching the chain around her neck once more, she rolled away towards the showers.

"Be safe, sirs," Alfred wished them good night and headed for the stairs.

"...Do you want to ride down in the car?" Batman asked Red Robin once their numbers had dwindled to three.

"Nah, I'll take my bike. Thanks, though. And just so you know," he added as he started for the garage area of the underground complex, "I'm excited. This might be Dick's present, but...I think we're all going to have fun. Maybe even you," he teased lightly. "See you in town."

Left alone with Robin, Batman drew himself up to his full height and placed his hands on his hips. "Alfred and Oracle may have let you off the hook," he rumbled, "but that doesn't mean that I'm going to. You were unnecessarily crude and extremely argumentative this evening. Would you care to enter a defense?"

The youth stepped closer and, upon stopping, unconsciously imitated his father's posture. "...I regret what I said to Oracle," he admitted petulantly. "And I'm going to do what she suggested as punishment."

"That doesn't seem like much of a chore."

"Says the man who thinks it's too much of a logistical nightmare to take a vacation more than once every twenty years," Robin countered hotly.

"...Are you finished arguing?" Batman asked dangerously.

"Yes. But I have one more thing to say."

"And that is?"

The boy pushed his lenses up. "...I'm glad you made the decision you did. I don't know if we'll have the fun that Drake – and everyone else – seems to think we will, but...saying 'no' in an instance like this is the sort of thing Mother would do." He paused. "So I'm glad you said yes. That's all." Covering his eyes again, he stalked away towards the car without another word.

_...I'm out of my head,_ Batman thought as he turned to watch him go. _Leaving for ten days in order to...to sit on a beach and do nothing. It's insanity._ Unbidden, a vision of his firstborn reacting to his gift rose in the back of his mind, and the pang of guilt he'd felt earlier for having put off a family trip for so long made itself known once more. _It's insanity, but...I've done crazier things for you before, chum. And the last thing I want is to make decisions the way Talia does, besides. _He sighed, his last reservations giving way under the pressure of an imagined smile. _Maybe it will be worth it. After all...those other crazy things were. So why not this, too?_

* * *

**A Further Note: This will be part one of a two-parter, since I think it's safe to assume that at least a few of you lovely readers will be clamoring to see Dick's reaction to his present. Part two will post tomorrow. Hope to see you all then!**


	9. Mele Kalikimaka

Christmas morning was a raucous affair at Wayne Manor that year, with half of the attendees under the age of twenty-five and copious amounts of sugar flowing from the kitchen to the living room in the form of cookies and cocoa. Things went smoothly until the last of the gifts had been fished out from beneath the furthest branches of the tree and passed to their designated recipients, at which point Bruce interrupted the proceedings.

"Wait," he told Dick just as the younger man slipped one finger under a paper seam. "I want you to open yours last."

"...Okay," he shrugged genially, retracting the digit and moving his hand to cover Barbara's instead. "Any particular reason?"

"A whim," the billionaire replied vaguely. _I want your surprise to be the grand finale,_ he said to himself. _You're going to love it, and I don't want you to have to come right back down in order to pay attention while everyone else finishes out their presents. _It had taken several days for him to really come to terms the idea of all of Gotham's protectors going out of town for leisure purposes simultaneously, but as he had imagined Dick's face at the news again and again the idea had started to grow on him. The fact that the 'logistical nightmare' he'd predicted had turned out to be nothing more than a mild stomachache hadn't hurt his affection for the plan any, and as he'd hashed out the final details of this morning's presentation with Alfred the night before he had found himself almost excited. _I just hope you believe me when I tell you. I wouldn't blame you if you thought I was pulling your leg. Hell, __I__ can barely believe that I've agreed to all of this._

The others, sensing the incipience of the moment they had been waiting for for nearly two weeks, went through their final packages quickly. "Am I allowed to go now?" Dick asked jokingly when it seemed everyone else had finished.

"...Yeah," Bruce swallowed. "Go ahead."

"Awesome. And look, it's even from you," he noted, reading the label. "Aaand it's a box," he announced, stripping the wrappings off to reveal the plain white paperboard beneath. "It's amazing what you can do with a box. They're super versatile. Thanks, Bruce, I love it," he jested, pretending as if he wasn't going to explore any further.

"Would you quit being a dork and open it the rest of the way?" Babs poked him in the ribs.

"Gah, all right, all right!" Dick twitched at the touch. "I just figured since he wanted me to wait so bad before that another few seconds couldn't hurt." Once he'd popped the tape along all four sides, he turned to his fiancee once more. "I'm opening it now," he informed her soberly.

"I swear, you are _such_ a troll sometimes," she shook her head. "Would you _please-_"

"Open the box!" the other four finished for her.

"On it!" the center of attention chortled, finally flinging the lid off. "What...I'm confused, Bruce," he confessed a moment later as he lifted a fake lei out. "Don't get me wrong, this will look great with the new swim trunks from Alfred – which I actually _did_ need – but I feel like I'm missing something."

"You are-" Damian started.

"-But we didn't want it to be _too_ obvious-" Tim continued.

"-So we were careful about what we put under the tree," the billionaire took over. "...Keep going, you're not done opening that present yet."

"Here," Babs snagged the lei and dropped it over his head. "Now your hands are free."

"Uh...thanks," Dick said, looking more puzzled than ever. "But what...oh," he breathed as he realized that the blue lining the bottom of the box was the front of a folder and not an artfully placed piece of wrapping paper. He removed it without opening it, then shot the man standing beside him a questing glance. "...Bruce? What is this?"

"You tell me, chum," he answered softly.

No one drew breath as the file was cracked open. "...This is a flight itinerary. But...it says six passengers, and that...that can't be right."

"Why not? Is there someone in the room you want to leave behind?" Bruce managed around the lump that was growing in his throat as he waited for full realization to set in.

"What? No! But...you mean we're _all_ going?" a disbelieving whisper sounded. "Like...at the same time?"

"All six of us are flying from here to Hawaii in the same private plane next month," he verified. "If we can manage to go ten days without killing each other, we'll all fly back on the same plane, too. It's all right there on the itinerary."

Dick stood up, clutching the folder to his chest as he confronted the man who had raised him. "You're telling me that _Batman_ is leaving Gotham for...for over a _week..._justto go to _Hawaii_?" he sputtered.

The rest of the room faded out of focus as Bruce concentrated on the doubtful hope rising in his favored child's gaze. "...You always said you wanted to take a family vacation, Dicky," he murmured. "I think you've waited more than long enough for it. Gotham...Gotham will survive in our absence."

The younger man's lips trembled at that, a few tears trickling down his cheeks as he fathomed what he'd been given. Then he leaned forward, nestling his face against the base of his guardian's neck as the same strong arms that had comforted him for two decades did so once more. "Thank you," he moaned. "Thank you so much. I...I can't even-"

"Don't," Bruce ordered gently. "You don't have to say anything. Just have _fun_, chum. That's all I ask." They pulled apart then, and the billionaire smiled. "And quit crying," he added, swiping distractedly at the dampness beneath his own eyes. "You're not supposed to cry on Christmas, damn it."

"You're not supposed to _swear_ on Christmas, either," Dick rebutted with a weak laugh. "Oh, my god, Bruce, you...you got me," he shook his head, still sniffling. "You really did. I _never_ would have thought that this...that this was something you'd even consider doing. Obviously Alfred was in on it, but even so...is this going to work? I mean, the logistics..."

"Are taken care of," Bruce chuckled in proud amusement as the rest of the assembly groaned. "And now that the waterworks are over-"

"Fat chance," Damian scoffed around a not quite fully restrained half-smile.

"-I should spread the credit for this around where it's due. This isn't really just from me, it's...it's from all of us, plus Wally, Clark, and Diana."

"...Wait, _what_?! But...I had presents from everyone else already," Dick argued. "...And from you, too, now that I think about it."

"All of which play into the trip," Bruce explained. "It's kind of hard to stick Flash, Superman, and Wonder Woman covering the city and our JLA duties under the tree, you know, and they wanted to give you something tangible, too. The stuff from them – the new sunglasses, the GoPro, the computer bag – those things were picked out _after _we knew we were doing this. "

"They're...they're taking care of all of our night work while we're gone?!" He swayed slightly, his eyes going wide and misty again. "...I think I should sit."

"I think you should too." Bruce guided him back down into his seat and waited for Barbara to give her betrothed her hand and a reassuring smile before he went on. "Because there's more."

"There's _more_?! You're breaking my brain here, Bruce."

_And you're breaking my heart, kiddo, because I see now just how much of a cruel, damned fool I've been for not doing this much, much sooner,_ the billionaire bit back. "Well," he allowed, "if you need a break, we can take one."

"No! No, tell me everything," the re-seated man pleaded. "Please?"

"I'll let Tim tell you this part, since it was his idea." _And since if I don't stop talking and give myself a minute I think I'm going to start crying again myself, _he didn't add.

"...Timmy?" Dick turned to his brother.

"Well," the next-youngest member of the family started, "it's more a development of Barbara's idea than one of my own, but...I just figured that since we're going for ten days, and there's five of us besides you, that...that maybe we should each take a day for some one-on-one. I thought...I thought you might like that," he blushed slightly. "...Do you?"

Dick was gaping. "...I get to spend a _whole_ _day_ with each of you while we're there?" he warbled.

"Uh...yeah-_oof_!" Tim exclaimed as his brother flailed over and all but fell on him in an attempt at a leaky-eyed embrace. "So...I guess this means you like it?"

"I _love_ it!" Dick straightened, his face warring between an overjoyed grin and a sobbing pout. "Does everyone know what we're doing, or...?"

"I thought surfing lessons would be kind of cool," Tim said, "and then maybe some snorkeling? They take you out to these cool reefs to do that part."

"That's our day together? Awesome," he pulled him into another hug. "...Dami? What about you?"

"I _wanted_ to go swimming with sharks," the boy's brow darkened momentarily, "but they won't let you unless you're dive certified, which I'm not and apparently can't be before we go. So...we're going on a volcano hike instead. We have to fly to another island from where we're staying to do it, but we're supposed to be able to go right up to the lava and everything. I dunno, that seemed okay." He glanced up as Dick sat down on the arm of his chair. "...Well? Do you like it or not?" he challenged.

"It's perfect, little D. A day traipsing around volcanoes with my favorite hothead?" He ruffled his hair, his fragile smile widening when the boy's lips twitched upwards for a second. "How can I say no to that?"

"I took swimming with sharks," Bruce revealed. "Since you and I are already both certified, we shouldn't have any hurdles to deal with."

"Heh. Too bad we can't take any shark repellant along to field-test when our lives _aren't_ depending on it working," Dick joked. "But I guess that would defeat the purpose of swimming _with_ the sharks."

"Not to mention give us away. After that," the billionaire smirked, "we're going hang-gliding."

"_Yes!_"

"Thought you might like that," the billionaire opined as he caught the flurry of excited limbs that threw itself at him on hearing the news. "I'm looking forward to it myself."

"Naturally," the younger man commented, pulling away in order to all but skip to Alfred. "What's our day going to be like?" he inquired, now glowing with unadulterated glee.

"Not nearly so adventurous as those you've just heard described, I'm afraid," the butler gave his charge a permissive smile, "but enjoyable nonetheless, I think. We'll spend the morning doing a bit of fishing close to shore – I've found a boat that will cook our catch for our lunch – and then have a nice sit-down tea. I thought we might take in some sort of cultural show after that, and have a late dinner at one of the better Japanese restaurants. Is that acceptable?"

"Oh, god, seafood day," Dick nearly drooled. "That sounds _amazing_, Alfred," he praised as he wrapped his arms around the Englishman. "I'm already salivating. But," he turned back to where he'd started his circuit of the room, "what about you, pretty lady? What do I get to spend the day doing with you?"

Barbara gave him a subtle look as, unseen by either of them, Alfred, Bruce, and Tim all shot a warning glare at Damian, who merely rolled his eyes. "Well, we're not going rock climbing," she said drily. "But...I thought we could rent a car, find a deserted strip of beach somewhere...sunbathe for a while," her grin turned fleetingly naughty, "then have a nice, long couple's massage before we take a private cocktail-and-dinner cruise to watch the sunset."

"That," he raised her be-ringed hand to his mouth and kissed it, "sounds absolutely perfect. The whole _trip_ sounds absolutely perfect," he marveled, "and I know it wasn't an easy decision to make," his gaze met Bruce's understandingly, "or to cause to be made," his tone lightened as he sent an appreciative wink to the rest of the group. "The only way this could be any more amazing than it already is would be if Jay could somehow be convinced to come, too, but...I know that's too much to ask for, and I wouldn't _dream_ of holding my breath for it because I'd just pass out. Anyway," his smile faltered, "thank you. Thank all of you. This is easily the best Christmas present anyone has _ever_ given me. I just can't believe you all managed to work together on this, and keep it secret, too. I think that might be the best part, is how...how you all teamed up to do it," he dried his eyes once more.

"It was difficult at times, Master Dick, but very much worth it in the end," Alfred stated. "Now, unless there's something I'm forgetting, it's high time you all had breakfast. It's been quite a morning, and I'm sure none of us wants to fall ill for lack of sustenance before our holiday."

"Definitely not," Dick leaped to his feet, his information packet still in one hand. "I'm starving. M'lady?" he bowed with a playful flourish, indicating that Barbara should go ahead of him towards the dining room.

"You're a dork," she informed him. Taking advantage of his lowered height, she kissed him as she passed. "And I love you for it."

"That's good, because it's not like he's going to become_ less_ of a dork with age," Damian contributed as he walked by.

"Watch it, or he'll push you into the lava when no one's looking," Tim remarked. 

"There's a reason I'm going to the volcanoes with Grayson instead of _you_, Drake."

"...Bruce, _tell _me that the two of them aren't sharing a room," Dick asked, half-wincing, half-laughing as his brothers disappeared into the hall.

"They aren't. Damian's with me, Tim's with Alfred."

"Oh, thank god. That will go a long way towards keeping our first family vacation from turning into a bloodbath."

"Agreed. Hold on," Bruce grabbed his wrist. "We'll be right in, Alfred," he signaled the butler to give them a minute.

"Very good, sir."

"What's up? Don't tell me there's _more_, I can't take it," Dick chuckled. "...Bruce?"

The billionaire swallowed heavily. "I owe you an apology, Dick," he said slowly.

"For what, the best Christmas of the century?"

"No. For my pigheadedness."

"...Bruce, what are you talking about? You're the most generous person I know."

He choked on that, only succeeding in clearing his throat due to his steely determination to clear the air of what he could now see had been a major failing on his part. "I'm not, chum," he insisted. "If I was...if I was, this wouldn't be the first family vacation we've ever taken. Don't," he held up a finger as Dick tried to protest. "Don't defend me. I was wrong. Every time you asked and I made some excuse or let it pass, I was wrong. I know now how many opportunities I squandered to make you happy the way you were this morning, and the way you will be in a few weeks, and I hate it. I just hope that this trip and...possible future trips," he ground out with difficulty, "can begin to make up for all that time that I wasted. More than that, though, I hope that you can forgive me."

"Bruuuuce," Dick whined, leaning into him again as his guardian cupped the back of his head. They were silent for a long moment before he pulled back, a glint of loving jest in his eyes. "I'll forgive you," he ruled, "on one condition."

"And what is that condition?" Bruce asked quietly. _I'll do it, whatever it is. Even if it's impossible, I'll do it, or at least try. Your forgiveness is worth that to me._

"Just have fun," he answered simply, echoing the older man's earlier instructions. "_Enjoy_ this, Bruce; that's all I ask. That, and that you keep jumping off of buildings and the occasional tropical cliff face with me," he grinned. "Deal?"

"Deal, partner," the billionaire agreed huskily. "Now," he wrapped one arm around his shoulders and squeezed tightly, "let's go have one of Alfred's famous Christmas breakfasts with the rest of the family, huh?"

"You bet, boss. Let's eat."


	10. The 'B' Word

**Author's Note: Can you believe we're two-fifths of the way through this series? Because I sure can't.**

**I was asked yesterday whether or not the events in this series are outside of my Spark in the Dark series, and the answer is yes. Anything that is part of Spark will be specifically stated as such, and added to the ongoing chronological list of Spark stories that I keep on my blog.**

**And now to the question that, judging from your reviews yesterday (which were numerous and wonderful, and for which I thank you), many of you are waiting for; there will be a Hawaii trip story posting during the first couple weeks of the year. I was going to wait until I actually went to Hawaii for the first time myself next fall to write it, but you all convinced me otherwise. There probably won't be much action, but there will be sufficient Batfam bonding for all, and that's almost as good. So, on that note, here's a little piece with Dick and Jason. Happy reading!**

* * *

Jason was standing at the end of one of the Manor's long upper corridors and staring down at the grounds pensively when his name was spoken behind him. _...Who the hell is that?_ he thought, annoyance flashing through his veins despite the speaker's pleasant tone. _It's definitely not Alfred or Bruce, I know that much._ Turning around slowly, he gave the man waiting for him an assessing glance, going from head to foot and then back to the smiling face. _What are you grinning about? See something funny? _he nearly barked. Just in time, the luxurious surroundings reminded him that this wasn't his usual neighborhood and that he was not, therefore, expected to react to every advance with a mixture of caution and assertive braggadocio, and he bit the words back. "Yeah?" he asked roughly instead.

"I'm Dick," the figure came forward with one hand extended. "Bruce has told me a lot about you, and I wanted to meet you."

"...Oh," he ignored the hand. "Yeah. He, uh...he mentioned you a couple times." _Every time, as a matter of fact,_ he kept to himself. _Every time I put on the costume, he gets that weird look in his eye like he's actually seeing someone else. Like he's seeing __you__. Even when he doesn't actually say anything about it, it's easy to tell who he's thinking about._ "Hey."

"Yeah..." Dick reached up to rub the back of his neck when his gesture of greeting wasn't returned. "I haven't really been his favorite topic of conversation the last year or so, I guess," he commented, a note of regret tingeing his voice.

_Are you sure about that?_ Jason snarked mentally. _Because if that's the case, I don't think he's aware of it._ "Oh. Okay. Well...he mentioned you before, anyway."

Seeming to snap out of whatever reverie he'd been trapped in, the taller male put a smile back on. "I'm glad. That makes this a slightly less awkward introduction," he joked. "Like I said, he's told me a lot about you these last few days, while we've been...catching up...but I thought I should meet you in person. It's not every day there's a new Robin, you know?"

"...No. I don't know." _You don't even sound bitter about that,_ he puzzled. _I thought you might...I don't know, resent me, if we ever met. Unless...would Bruce ask you to come back? He said you have a new name now, but I could see him asking anyway. The way he talks about you all the time, he'd probably be happier with you at his side. Is that why you're __really__ here, is to...to take your mask back? _Until now he hadn't stopped to take stock of just how important having a secret identity had become to him in the short months since he had been struck by the dangerous whim to strip the Batmobile of its hubcaps, but once the suggestion that Robin might be taken from him was made he became immediately defensive. "So, what, you've made up, or whatever? Are you coming back now, or...?" He crossed his arms as he spoke, his brow darkening.

"Weeeeell...in a way I guess I'm coming home," Dick contemplated, moving to the window and resting against the frame. "I'm still going to live in Bludhaven, of course – I like it there, I have a fun job, and I think people are finally starting to really appreciate Nightwing – but I'll be coming around a lot more often now. At least, I hope to. And I know you don't live here full time, but we'll probably see each other fairly often. Alfred will have my head if I miss coming by next week for Christmas now that Bruce and I can manage to be in the same room together again, for one, and I figured you'll be here, too. To be honest, though," he blushed slightly, "I mostly came by because I...I always wanted a little brother. When I heard that I actually have one now, I, uh...I got excited. I couldn't wait to meet you. It's like an early Christmas present.".

"...You don't even know me," Jason said, more curious than wary as he relaxed under the promise that his mask was not being quested after.

"Nope, I don't," the dark-haired form gave a lopsided grin. "That's why I struck up a conversation. So I could get to know you better." He paused. "You don't mind, do you? I'm not trying to annoy you or anything, honest."

"...No," the younger male shook his head before he knew what he was doing. _What is it about this guy?_ he mused. _I've barely known him for five minutes and I feel...at ease with him, almost. It's weird. Did he hypnotize me or something? I should probably stop talking, but...well, there's not really any reason to hurt his feelings by being rude, especially since I know I'm going to have to see him again so long as I keep coming here. _"I...don't mind, I guess."

"Great!" Dick exclaimed, settling in further against his leaning post. "So...gosh, tell me about yourself. Bruce explained how you met," he waved a hand in the air, "- and let me just say that _I_ would never have had the spine to try and rip off the _Batmobile_, so wow to that – but that only tells me so much."

"What...what do you want to know?" Jason asked carefully. _I'm not telling you about mom, or where I live, or...or any of that. It's none of your business._ Even as he protested the unbroached questions, though, he had a sense that his new acquaintance wouldn't dream of asking them, and that simple certainty made his tension ease even further.

"School's as good a place to start as any, don't you think?"

"I'm not a fan of it. Next?"

Dick looked surprised for a moment, but recovered quickly. "All right. Do you like being Robin? Bruce said you're doing a pretty good job training," he complimented.

"He did?" It was Jason's turn to be taken aback. "I mean...wait, don't you want to talk about school any more? That was a pretty quick topic change."

"You didn't seem like you wanted to talk about school," Dick shrugged, "so I thought I'd try out something else. Don't get me wrong, if you _want_ to talk about it, that's fine with me. I just assumed that if you tell everyone you meet that you're 'not a fan' of school then you probably have enough people ragging on you about how important it is."

"And what, you're not going to do that?" the teen countered. "You're going to try and be the 'cool' adult, is that it?"

"No," Dick shook his head, seemingly not taking offense at Jason's suddenly less-than-generous tone. "I just think it would be hypocritical for someone who dropped out of college after only one semester because it was boring to give a lecture about liking school. Don't you?"

"I...yeah. I guess it would be," Jason gave in, calming once more. _Huh. Bruce didn't mention that part. You quit college? I could see that pissing him off. _"So...you said you have a fun job anyway? Even without a bunch of extra school?"

"I wouldn't say there wasn't extra school-"

"Oh."

"-but it was _fun_ school. Police Academy," he explained. "It was like..." He trailed off for a long moment. "It was like Batman boot camp, but _way_ easier. And now I get to catch criminals day _and_ night, so...I have no room to complain."

"...I'm not really a fan of cops any more than I am of school," Jason said flatly, ducking his head. "Although..."

"Although what?" Dick pressed kindly, craning his neck to see the boy's face.

"Well...I guess you don't seem so bad, for a cop."

"Thanks. I try not to be a dick in uniform."

The pun was terrible, but Jason snorted at it anyway. "Cute," he said sarcastically.

"I've been looking for an excuse to use that one. So," he stretched, "you don't like school, you're not a fan of cops...but you didn't answer my question earlier."

"What question?"

"How's being Robin?"

"...It's..." _It's personal,_ he wanted to say. He'd told Bruce and Alfred both that he liked the position when they had asked, but he hadn't gone into any detail and they hadn't pushed. _It's personal, but...well, you were Robin once. You know how it is, right? _"...It's pretty fucking awesome," he confessed.

"First off, I'm really, really glad that you like it," Dick beamed. "Batman needs Robin, and it's a really fantastic gig. Second," his voice became conspiratorial, "don't _ever_ let Alfred hear you drop an F-bomb. Even Bruce still worries that he's going to wash his mouth out with soap when he lets one slip. Trust me, you _don't_ want to tick Alfred off."

"I got that sense, yeah. I don't know," he sighed, warming to the mutually interesting subject. "This place...it's kind of hard to get used to. There are a lot of rules. I'm...not used to that."

"It takes some adjusting to, that's for sure. Trust me, I came here from a traveling circus." His eyes grew distant momentarily, leading Jason to wonder how much more there was than that to his predecessor's back story. "I, uh...I remember. But you'll get used to it," he brightened. "If you're being allowed to train as Robin, then you've got to be smart. Even if you don't like school much," he teased gently. "All the rules make sense, so they're easy for smart people to grasp. You'll be fine. And if you're ever unsure about it, then...well, I know we just met and all, but I don't mind if you come to me with questions or whatever. Only if you want to, of course. And if you get into trouble with Bruce...let's just say I know how to talk to Bruce. I can't promise I'll get you off the hook _every_ time, but I'm willing to try."

"...Why?" _Sure, you used to be Robin before me, but...why would you make that offer already?_ _You don't know me. You owe me nothing. Why?_

"I like you," Dick told him frankly. "And I remember what it was like to grow up here. It's great, don't get me wrong, but...occasionally it would have been nice to have a big brother who'd been there before and could help me through some of the things I found really annoying at the time. I didn't have that, obviously, but...that doesn't mean you shouldn't, if you want it. I'm willing. Just...you know, give me a call."

"...A brother." _There's that damn word again. I wish he'd quit throwing it around like that. I never wanted a brother that I can remember. Although it might be kind of...convenient, I suppose, to have someone who knows the streets. Or the halls, in the case of this place._

"Yeah. You're Robin now; I was Robin then; and Bruce took us both in. It might not sound like much right off the bat – yeah, I meant that one too," he chuckled, "– but believe me, there are no two other people in the world that will end up sharing the sorts of things, the sorts of experiences, that we will. That's partly a promise, and partly a warning, just so you know. It isn't all pretty, not by any stretch of the imagination."

Bruce had said the same thing to him, Jason recalled, and the statement had inspired a question in him at the time. Now, wondering if the former Robin's answer would match that of his mentor, he asked it again. "Is it worth it, though?"

"Worth it?" Dick held his gaze through a beat. "Absolutely, Jay. Abso-freaking-lutely."

"...'Jay'?" an eyebrow arched.

"Sure. Is that okay? I won't call you that if you don't want, I just have a penchant for passing out nicknames. That one seems to suit you."

_...Have I ever had a nickname before that wasn't a derogatory term? I don't know..._ "No, it's...it's cool. I don't mind."

"Cool."

"...Hey, Dick?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Uh...well...I was wondering..."

"Wondering what?"

"Ah...this place is pretty fancy, right?"

"How'd you guess?" Dick laughed. "Go on."

"It's just...I've never been to a fancy Christmas before. Is it...how fancy _is_ it?" That worry had been rankling ever since Alfred had made it clear that, while his obligations to his mother understandably came first, his presence at the Manor for at least a small portion of the holiday would be greatly appreciated. It was, in fact, what he had been staring out the window and wrestling with when he had been interrupted, and while he hadn't been able to work up the nerve to ask either of the resident adults what he should expect on the 25th Dick was close enough to his age and experience that the inquiry managed to slip out.

"It's so fancy," the older boy answered solemnly, "that when I lived here I was expected to come downstairs in my pajamas without doing my hair so that I could open my presents first thing. After that Alfred would lay out breakfast, which was so formal that they thought something was wrong with me if I didn't spend it talking about all of the great presents I got while I drew smiley faces on my waffles with the syrup. Then, of course, I had to play with all of that neat stuff I'd just opened, at least until I passed out from the sugar crash around two. Bruce would usually nap, too, and then wake me up for an early dinner. _That_ you do have to kind of get dressed for, and use table manners and all of that, but," he winked, "I think you can handle it."

"...It's really so relaxed? I thought Alfred-"

"Alfred's a big softie under that stiff upper lip. Just follow the rules and mind your manners, and he'll be slipping you cookies after patrol in no time."

"...Huh." _That's not as bad as I thought. I expected...I don't know, a big party or something, I guess. The sort of thing you see in the papers. Something I would never, ever want to go to. _"Thanks for the tip. His cookies are good."

"Oh, god, yes. Yes they are," Dick nearly drooled. "...You know what? Talking about Christmas morning like that...I think I'll see if I can get the Eve off, or at least get off early, and maybe spend that night here. Bruce already asked if I would, but I'm scheduled to work. Still, I bet if I switch someone for New Year's Day I can swing it. No one wants to work with a hangover, but I'll be on the roofs anyway, so no Champagne for me. We used to go look at Christmas lights," he remembered, doubling back. "...You should come along, Jay. It's fun, Alfred packs hot cocoa and coffee and we make up better lyrics to the carols on the radio while we drive around."

"That...does sound like fun," Jason had to admit. "But..."

"Well, see what you can do," Dick told him lightly after a brief pause. "If you can't, you can't, and no hard feelings. But if you _can_...well, I think that would be pretty awesome."

"I...okay. I'll, uh...I'll see what I can do." _Anything's got to be better than sitting around a cold, boring apartment watching mom get smashed. If I only go for a couple of hours, she should be all right. And if you're really going to be there,_ he considered his new acquaintance,_ then it might actually be kind of...fun. A __fun__ Christmas. What a concept._

"Great!" With that Dick straightened up and glanced at his watch. "Hey, I have to go. But...well, here," he pulled out his phone. "What's your number? I'll text you, then you'll have mine. You know, in case you need something, or have a question, or just want to talk, or...whatever, really."

"Aah...I don't hafafo."

"...Huh?"

"I don't have...a _phone_," Jason forced out, embarrassment staining his cheeks.

"Seriously? Bruce is a dork for not getting you one yet. Don't worry about it," he shrugged, pulling out his wallet. "Here, take this. It's my card. It's got my work and cell numbers, so you're covered. As for the cell...well, suffice it to say that you just made my Christmas shopping _way_ easier."

"...Wait, what? Don't..." _Don't get me anything. I can't get you anything back..._

"Don't worry, I won't get anything too...'fancy,'" Dick threw him an understanding smile. "Unless that's what you want?"

_...Why do I feel like if I tell you not to buy my anything you're going to get the newest, most expensive thing the salesperson shows you? Shit... _"Less fancy would probably be better," he gave in. _I don't really want anyone to try and stab my over a phone. That's a dumb thing to have to beat someone up over._

"You got it. Now," his arm extended itself again, "since we've gotten to know each other a little better now and it sounds like we'll be seeing each other again soon...do you think I can have that handshake?"

"Uh...sure," Jason conceded slowly, still hesitant about touching despite the considerable opening up he'd done over the past twenty minutes. As soon as their palms connected, he found himself encased in a hug the likes of which he had never experienced before. _Jesus, guy, you're...you're really good at this,_ he almost fought before physical and emotional warmth soaked into him, forcing him to just accept the gesture. _That was...kind of nice,_ he admitted when he was released a few seconds later. _I almost wish it hadn't ended so soon..._

"It's okay," Dick assured him. "I give out cuddles like _crazy_ on Christmas. And all the time, really. So, if you're ever low on hugs...you know who to call," he tapped the heavy bit of paper that had somehow transferred from his hand to Jason's during the embrace. "Good talk, Jay. I'm looking forward to the next one." With that and a quicksilver grin, he started down the hall. "Oh, one more thing?" he asked, turning back after a few steps.

"What's that?"

"...Take care of Bruce for me when I'm not around, huh? It's important."

"He seems pretty good at taking care of himself." When that remark drew a small pout, Jason gave in without fully understanding why. "...But I'll try."

"Fantastic. Thanks, little brother. I owe you one." And then he was gone, ducking around a corner and passing out of sight.

Wayne Manor's newest denizen stared after him for a long second, then shuffled back to the outpost he'd been manning when his strange visitor had arrived. _That was weird. He's so...friendly. __How__ is he so friendly? He sure as hell didn't learn it from Bruce, unless that guy has changed a __lot__ since they stopped talking. _He raised the card he held in order to read it. _'Officer R. J. Grayson, BPD.' Well, he wasn't lying about being a cop, _he thought, running his thumb over the raised seal of the City of Bludhaven. _I still don't want to believe that he really is one, though. He's...he's so...likeable,_ his face twisted. _But I don't think he's doing it for any gain, that's the thing. I think he's just...like that. Nice, and...caring. It's freaky._

He paused as Dick appeared on the lawn below and headed for the garage. As he watched, the man stopped and looked up searchingly. When his gaze came to rest on the window Jason stood in, his arm went up in a wave, and the teen felt himself return it almost without thinking. _He's weird, but...he's also kind of great._ _What's way stranger, _he mused, swiveling slowly on his heel in order to head downstairs and let Alfred know that he had decided he would do what he could to make an appearance on Christmas Day, and possibly the night before as well, _is that I never minded not having a...a brother...before today. Now...now I'm getting the feeling that he's not going to let me mind that for long. _His lips curved upward slightly as he slipped the card into his pocket and recalled the warmth and welcome that had surrounded him in the man's embrace. _And I think I might be kind of okay with that. _


	11. Joy

"Oh by golly have a holly, jolly...hmm," Dick broke off singing as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the glittering welcome table that Alfred had set up in the foyer. Flanking a massive guest book were two crystal vases filled with long, straight peppermint sticks, and it was those striped gatekeepers that had caught his eye. Now they beckoned the teen closer, promising both danger and sweetness. _I shouldn't touch them,_ he told himself, licking his lips as he drew near. _They're for the party tonight. But...there's so many of them, you probably wouldn't even be able to notice if I took just __one__...no! No, Alfred spent a lot of time making this look really great, I don't want to ruin it. _He shuffled his feet, undecided despite his moment of conscience. _If you can't even __tell__, though, what's the harm? And I haven't had anything to eat since lunch, but Alfred said he's not cooking anything before the dinner tonight...crap._

Glancing both ways to make sure he was unobserved, he dared to pluck a candy rod from the closer container. Holding his breath, he watched the rest shift to fill the vacant space. _You totally can't even tell. Awesome, _he grinned, popping the treat into his mouth. _Mm, pepperminty...I should take one to Bruce,_ a thought occurred. _He's been working since before I got up this morning; he must be ready for a break by now, especially since he didn't even come out for lunch. Besides, if I take a stick from the __other__ vase it'll be even harder to tell anything's missing from the first one._ Satisfied with his logic, he selected a length of red and white from the second vessel and headed for his guardian's study.

Halfway along the corridor Alfred stepped from a side room and directly into his path. _Oh, crud!_ the boy's eyes widened. _I figured he'd be in the kitchen or back in the ballroom, not down here! He's going to know what I did now...I knew I shouldn't have touched anything... _The thick coating of peppermint on his tongue was suddenly unpleasant, his guilt coming through on his taste buds.

"Master Dick," the butler acknowledged warmly when he caught sight of him. An instant later a frown bowed his lips, and Dick's disappointment in himself deepened.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, pulling his snitched sweet away from his face. "I didn't mean to mess anything up, honest."

"...I beg pardon, young sir? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're apologizing for."

_...How do you not see what I'm holding?_ _ What...are you not mad?_ Dick puzzled. "I...I took these off of the table in the entryway," he confessed. "Out of the vases. I know I should have asked, but they looked so good and I didn't want to bother you because I know you're busy today..."

"Oh? Well, that's no problem, so long as you only took a couple."

"It...it isn't?" he stuttered.

"No, Master Dick," Alfred chuckled indulgently. "I'm sure the display looks just as fine as it did when I left it. There's no harm done by your having procured yourself a little afternoon snack from it; after all, you're at least putting the materials to their proper use. Besides, I _may_ have overstuffed the containers slightly in anticipation of your coming downstairs and wanting to have one or two," he winked.

"I...oh. Thanks! I thought you'd be mad." His smile returning now that his actions had been given the butler's benediction, he popped the peppermint stick back into his mouth.

"Not at all. May I assume that you are on your way to see Master Wayne, since you are headed in the direction of the study?" Receiving a nod, he went on, looking relieved. "Lovely. He was in quite a mood earlier when I took him a fresh pot of coffee; be a good boy and see if you can't snap him out of it somewhat, would you? I fear he'll be a less than gracious host this evening if he doesn't find some pleasant distraction between now and six o'clock."

"Sure, Alfred," Dick agreed, removing his candy in order to speak. "I'll see what I can do. This should help," he jested as he held up the as yet unlicked rod in his other hand.

"It may very well do just that. Go on and see, then. But," he stopped the teen as he started to move past, "would you be so kind as to wait until you're not moving to give your attention to your treat? If you were to trip..." He trailed off, unable to finish that dark prediction.

_I'm not going to fall and choke on a candy cane,_ Dick almost rolled his eyes, _but if it makes you feel better, okay. _"You bet. I'll wait until I'm sitting down," he complied.

"Thank you, Master Dick. I know it's only a little thing, but it does give an old man comfort."

"Any time. And Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

"The foyer looks _awesome_."

"Thank you, dear boy. Now we've only to see whether the social elite of Gotham agree with you, hmm?" With that the butler hustled away, leaving Dick standing with a peppermint stick in each hand.

_If they don't all love it, they're a bunch of Grinches, _the youth ruled as he approached the shut double doors of the study. A frustrated harrumph came through the wood just as he reached for the handle, drawing a smirk across his face. _And speaking of Grinches..._ "Bruce?" he asked, poking his head into the room.

"What?" came an irritated reply.

"Aw, c'mon, cheer up!" he encouraged, approaching the desk. "I haven't seen you _all day_, so I brought you something," he went on, holding the still-whole sweet out as a peace offering. "I thought you might need a break."

The billionaire looked up finally, his face haggard after hours of labor. The bright smile and eager eyes that greeted him broke through his exhaustion, causing one corner of his mouth to hitch upwards as his gaze softened. "Thanks, chum," he murmured, accepting the gift and leaning back in his chair as Dick dropped into a seat opposite him. "What have you been up to all day?"

"Stuff," the teen shrugged good-naturedly. "Since I couldn't go to the Mountain because of the party here, I read part of a book, got online to chat with Wally, and took a nap. Wrapped some presents, too," he hinted, his words slightly muffled due to the peppermint stick that was once more protruding from his lips.

"Stole a couple candy canes," Bruce added as he tasted his own.

"Yeeeah...Alfred knows, though. He said it was okay." They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes, each busily working at his treat. "Are you ready for tonight?" Dick asked finally.

"Am I ever ready for these damn things?"

"I know you hate them, but...no one can ever tell except for me. Well, and Alfred, but that's just because he knows everything."

"Mm...well, they'll all be able to tell tonight. I have no idea what I'm going to say when I have to stand up and talk."

"Why do you even have to _give_ a speech?" Dick wrinkled his nose. "It's stupid. This is a party, not a fundraiser. No one's giving money to anything, they're just coming because they want to schmooze and drink free alcohol and feel privileged. You shouldn't have to talk if you don't want to."

A slow, sad smile crept across Bruce's face. "I never told you why we have this party every year, did I?" he asked quietly.

"...No. You didn't." _Aw, crap, he's got that look he gets when he's thinking about his parents,_ the teen realized. "But you don't have to, if you don't want to."

"It's all right," the billionaire reassured. "I'd kind of like to tell you, if you don't mind listening."

"I don't mind," Dick answered immediately. _You've probably sat through a thousand hours of me talking about my parents; I can return the favor in those rare moments when you wan to reciprocate._

Bruce set his peppermint stick aside carefully, the action giving what he was about to say greater weight than it would have otherwise carried. "I give this party on the weekend before Christmas every year for one reason, and for one reason only. I give it because it's something that my parents did, and my father's parents before that, and my grandfather's, all the way back to before the Civil War," he explained. "Obviously there have been gaps, for instance when I was too young to play host on...on my own, but whenever possible the party has gone on. Every year that there has been a gathering in this house for the holidays, the host has made a speech. Some have been better than others, of course, but there's always been one, or so the story goes. Usually I can manage a semi-decent ramble, but this year..." He shook his head. "I don't know, kiddo. I've been trying to write something all morning, and it's just not coming to me."

"Maybe you should just...you know, improvise," Dick suggested. "Batman's great on the fly; just do what you do on the street. If you can throw criminals for a loop working off the cuff, imagine what you'll do to a bunch of fancy-schmancy socialites."

"It's not quite that easy. I wish it was. You've got to have an idea of what you want to say, what you're aiming for, before you can just spit something clever out. I don't even have a core message that isn't just a reheated version of something I've said into a microphone before."

"Well...maybe you've been concentrating on it too long," the teen tried another tack. "Maybe you need a break, that's all."

"I'm open to suggestions. Keep in mind that this break has to be fast enough to leave me time to get at least a few ideas down on paper before we have to change, though."

"...Ew. Tuxedos."

"Tell me about it."

The teen sucked on his candy cane for another long beat, then held it up to examine it. He had drained the color from nearly two inches of it, leaving the end tapered to a dangerous-looking point, and as he studied his handiwork he struck upon a distraction that might help his guardian clear his head. "So...you know how yesterday was the last day of school until January?" he inquired.

"Yes. Why?"

"Well...we had kind of a party in earth science. Mr. Denton had us bust up rock candy and peppermints with a hammer and gave us a mini-lecture on crystal structures, right? But that stuff only took, like, half of class, so he gave everyone a candy cane afterward and said we could have free time so long as we were quiet. Anyway...a couple of the other guys made theirs really sharp, and...and they started sword-fighting with them. It was crazy," he laughed, "and you could tell they'd done it before, because they were pretty good. We all watched them for, like, five minutes, and Mr. Denton didn't even tell them to quit until Ben almost tipped over his desk. The bell was about to ring anyway, but..."

"...But what?" Bruce pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe that would take your mind off of your speech, and help you come up with a good idea. You've been in here _all day_," he half-pouted. "Don't you want to move around some? It'd be good exercise, and it's not like we could get hurt fighting with _candy_."

"I wouldn't bet on the not getting hurt part," the billionaire countered. "But..."

"But...? Oh, c'mon, Bruce, it'll be fun!"

It was absurdly childish, and exactly what Bruce expected that a pair of fourteen-year-olds would come up, but as he sat with his snack back in his mouth and tried to ignore the pleading look his son was wearing he had to admit that it _did_ sound kind of fun. _I never had any friends to do things like that with,_ he mused. _Dick only ever talks about the team, so I kind of doubt he's doing many things like this, either, at least when he'd not at the Mountain. I remember what it was like to watch others have fun without you, and to feel like you had no one to play those kinds of games with. _His gaze hardened. _I don't want you to miss out on things like that the way I did. _"I'll agree to this...diversion...on one condition," he ruled finally.

"Don't tell Alfred?"

"Exactly. Deal?"

Dick beamed and waved his weapon in the air with a flourish. "En garde," he proclaimed.

"No, we're doing this right. Stand up and go in front of the fireplace." When they were in position, facing once another with their confectionery daggers at the ready, he nodded soberly. "Now...en garde!" 

The first few rounds were treated seriously, with both participants maintaining their form as if they were having one of their regular fencing duels. As each combatant began to accumulate sticky streaks along their arms and hands, however, the atmosphere devolved, and before long they were laughing and throwing outrageous insults at each other as they ducked and dodged in what had become a strange version of tag.

"Insidious blackguard!" Dick chortled, utilizing the end of a curtain as a makeshift cape in an attempt to disarm his opponent.

"Deplorable cur!" Bruce parried, launching an overhand assault that sent the teen scurrying behind the desk.

"...Wait, did you just call me a dog?! You heathenous nematode!"

"'Heathenous nematode'? If I'm an irreligious roundworm, chum, then _you're_ a cackling crawdad," he drew his son into battle around a lamp, each fighting for possession of it as though the base of the narrow fixture was sovereign, sacred territory.

"A 'cackling crawdad'?! Well that makes _you_ a-"

"I believe it makes you _both_ obstinate scalawags," a new voice piped in from the doorway.

Man and boy froze, their bodies locked in battle positions as their heads whipped around to discover Alfred poised at the entrance to the hall. "Uhh..." both faltered at the same time.

"Just look at the pair of you," the butler shook his head as his charges straightened and tried to look civilized in spite of their flushed faces, mussed hair, and the completely indiscreet marks of war smeared across their skin and clothing. "Here we are, an hour from when your guests will be arriving, and not only are neither of you dressed for the occasion but you've also managed to add showering to the list of things you must do in order to be presentable!"

"Ah..this is my fault, Alfred," Bruce started.

"No, it's mine, if I hadn't suggested it-" Dick objected.

"I could have said no," the billionaire pointed out.

"Or stopped it before you became carried away, yes," the Englishman remarked. "However, we haven't time to assign blame just now, have we?"

"...No," the younger males agreed on top of one another.

"No," Alfred agreed. "That being the case, I advise that you both head upstairs, perform whatever ablutions are necessary in order to remove your candy coating, and put on the tuxedos I've laid out for you." He paused, seeming to consider something. "I assume that you can manage to pass the front table without feeling the need to procure new armaments from the stockpile, Master Dick?" he asked.

"...Yes, Alfred," the boy answered sheepishly.

"And you, Master Wayne?"

"Yes, Alfred," the billionaire echoed his son.

"Very well, then, off with the pair of you. I'll be up shortly to ensure that you're making sufficient progress."

Ducking their heads and exchanging guilty looks, Dick and Bruce made to file past the tight-lipped butler. "Ah!" he halted them, holding out an imperious hand. "You'll surrender your swords, if you please." They handed over their abused candy canes without argument, then shuffled into the passageway. A few steps down the corridor Bruce gripped Dick's wrist and put a finger to his lips, bidding him silently to stop. A moment later they heard an amused guffaw come from the man they'd just been lectured by. "Incurable scamps," Alfred's disembodied voice, long-suffering but overflowing with affection, floated out to them. "Whatever shall I do with you, my boys?" That rhetorical question was followed almost instantly by a sound of disgust. "For heaven's sake, is there any part of these peppermints that isn't sticky? Good lord..."

They nearly lost it again right there in the hall, and had to lean against one another to make it to the foyer without bursting into fresh laughter. Once they had reached the relative safety of the stairs, Dick glanced over at the pure, fresh candies standing sentinel at the front doors.

"Don't even think about it," Bruce, still shaking slightly with amusement, nudged him. "He'll kill us."

"Yeah, you're right. But...it was fun, right? I mean, it took your mind off of the speech?"

"It did do that, chum, no doubt about it. It was a good suggestion." The billionaire glanced at the path ahead of them. "...Try not to touch _anything_, okay?"

"Right." They ascended with their hands held out, avoiding the freshly polished railings at all costs. "Hey, Bruce?" Dick asked once they'd reached the top.

"Hmm?"

"...Do you know what you're going to give your speech about tonight?"

Taking in the strip of red dye running along the teen's left cheek and the dab of color near the end of his chin, Bruce recalled the unadulterated joy that had shone in his child's eyes when they had been swiping at one another with sticks of candy. _It was something so simple,_ he reflected, _but it made you so happy. Hell, it made __me__ happy. It even made Alfred happy, or at least it sounded that way after he'd finished yelling at us. I spent all day laboring over a few words, trying to decide what I could say to these people that I haven't said before, and you just waltzed in, proposed a sword fight, and gave me my answer; joy. I've probably brought that up before at one of these, but...it will be different this year. It will be different because I think this time I might actually have half a clue as to what I'm talking about. Joy...you give me that, chum. Joy is my watchword tonight, and if the people at this party don't understand, then I pity them._ "...Yeah, kiddo," he nodded, smiling softly. "I think I finally do."


	12. Nine Cookies

"Bruce."

The whisper woke him, but he pretended otherwise. _I know it's Christmas, kiddo, but __please__ go back to sleep,_ he groaned internally. _It's too early..._

"Bruce," a small hand lighted on his arm, not quite shaking him but definitely making its presence known. "Bruce, are you awake?"

"...No, chum, I'm not."

"Then how are you answering me?" Dick asked.

"Lucid dreaming."

"...Huh? What's that?"

_Smooth, Wayne,_ the man with his eyes still firmly screwed shut chastised himself. _Get him asking questions so that you can __never__ go back to sleep..._ "It's...never mind what it is," he sighed. "Come up here, huh?"

"Okay." The mattress shifted as the ten-year-old crawled onto the bed and plopped down beside its inhabitant. "Merry Christmas, Bruce," he wished hopefully.

"Merry Christmas, Dicky. Here," he made room. "Lay down." _Maybe if you're horizontal you'll pass out for a few more hours,_ desperate hope assailed him.

"But it's Chr-"

"What time does the clock say?"

"What?"

"What time," the billionaire repeated, "does the clock say?"

"Um...well, it's _after_ four."

_Four__?! I've been asleep for an hour at the most. Sorry, kiddo, but we are __not__ getting up this early. Even if I thought Alfred might be ready for us downstairs – and he may very well be, if only because he anticipates damn near everything we do – my answer would still be no, because __really__? Four o'clock? That's ridiculous. _"Then we're going back to sleep," he informed the boy.

"But-!"

"No buts. But I'll make you a deal," the rest-deprived man told him. "Whatever time we sleep until, you can have that many cookies while you open presents. Okay?"

"...Do you think Alfred will let me?"

"I'll talk to Alfred. You just lay down and close your eyes."

"...Okay." There was a hesitancy in the boy's tone that gave Bruce a moment's pause, but he let it go as a warm body snuggled up against him. "Christmas cuddles are nice," Dick commented quietly.

"Mm-hm," Bruce squeezed him. "Go to sleep."

For several blessed minutes, the room was silent. Then: "...Bruce?"

_God damn it,_ the billionaire's mouth tightened. "Yes?" he let out in a long breath, trying not to come off as annoyed. _It's Christmas morning, and he's excited,_ he counseled himself. _But I've __got__ to get more sleep than this. I don't want to be grouchy while he's opening his presents, and I will be if we get up now._

"Um...what'd you get Alfred for Christmas?"

"What? Dick...just wait a few more hours and see, okay? Go back to sleep, and you'll find out when you wake up."

"But I...okay," the child sighed. "...G'night, Bruce."

"Good night." _For the love of god, fall asleep,_ he prayed soundlessly. The words litanied in his head, repeating themselves over and over again until finally-

"...Bruce?"

"Go back. To sleep," he half-growled.

"I...I can't, though. I don't want to. Please, can we just have Christmas now? _Please_?"

"Dick, I am going to say this once, and _only_ once," Bruce said flatly, his patience drained. "You can either go back to sleep in here with me, or you can go and play quietly in your room until Alfred or I come to get you. We're _not_ having Christmas at four in the morning, do you understand?"

"I...yes, Bruce," the child whispered.

"What are you going to do?"

There was no movement for a second, and then Dick sat up. Below him, the billionaire's eyes popped open in surprise. _That wasn't the answer I expected, chum,_ he frowned. _Are you actually going, or...wait, are you __crying__? Oh, shit, I didn't mean..._ "Dicky," he started, all of his previous perturbation fleeing as he reached out to rest a hand on the narrow, trembling back that had been turned to him. "What's wrong, chum?"

"N-_nothing_..."

"That's not true. Hey," he traced his spine, "what's up? I'm not mad at you, kiddo, I'm just really tired. I haven't been sleeping that long, and I need more rest before we get up for the day. I know you're excited, and we're going to have Christmas before you know it, just...not this instant. Okay?"

"It's...it's n-not that," was sniffled back.

_...Wait, what?_ The hesitation that had come through in the boy's voice a short while before smacked him across the face, and he winced as he realized what the problem was._ Oh, no..._ "Did...did you have a nightmare earlier?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Uh...uh-huh...'M sorry..."

"Nooo," he almost cooed, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his son. _Oh, baby, bad dreams on Christmas Eve? That's just...that's just wrong. So wrong._ "I'm sorry. I didn't know, chum, you didn't say anything when you came in." _Normally I can tell; why couldn't I tonight, though? Am I __that__ tired? _"I didn't know. It's okay, Dicky, I promise, it's okay..." He rocked slowly back and forth, feeling like a total ass as he let the boy in his embrace cry himself out. "Hush," he breathed against his scalp. "Hush, now, I'm right here..."

"'M sorry," came again.

"For what, kiddo? You haven't done anything wrong," he soothed.

"I d-d-didn't want to r-ruin _Christmas," _a tearful reply was voiced. "And n-now I did, but I didn't m-mean to, Bruce!"

"What? You didn't ruin anything, Dicky. Not a thing," the billionaire swore. "My Christmas will be just fine and dandy so long as you stop crying tell me what happened."

"It's scary, though," the child revealed miserably.

"Yeah? Is that why you didn't want to tell me about it?" The feel of a head being shaken against his shoulder told him that he was off the mark. "...So it because you were afraid of ruining Christmas?"

"It...I know you don't like it when I have n-nightmares," Dick explained, slowly calming down. "I know it makes you sad. And I just didn't want you to be sad on Christmas, cause you said once that you always _used_ to be sad on Christmas but you're not any more, and...and you shouldn't be sad today, that's all."

"It does, chum. It does make me sad," Bruce verified. "But that doesn't mean that I don't want you to tell me when you have one. Besides, _you_ shouldn't be sad on Christmas, either." _It's far more important that you be happy today than that I be that way,_ he thought, _and that's not least because seeing you happy makes me happy._

"I thought...I thought if I got up and we had Christmas early that maybe it would make me less scared and...and I wouldn't have to make you sad just to feel better. I _did_ feel better for a minute, right when I came in, but...not even laying down with you could make it go away. I thought that might work if you wouldn't let us have Christmas, because laying with you always works, but...it was still scary when I tried to close my eyes."

"That's because we hadn't talked about it." _I know how you are; you have to talk about bad things, or they eat you up inside. It's too important a part of your coping mechanism to skip._ "I know you were trying to be all big and strong by not telling me you had a nightmare, but even grown-ups need to talk sometimes. There's no shame in it."

"I know. I just...it makes you sad."

Bruce closed his eyes as a pair of arms clamped around his neck. "You know what makes me even sadder than your bad dreams, Dicky?"

"What's that?"

"The thought of you not coming to me when you need to."

"But I _did_ come to you!"

"But you didn't tell me what was going on. I'm pretty good, but I'm not a mind reader. Sometimes, like tonight, I can't just _tell_ that you're upset. Sometimes you have to tell me; otherwise I can't help. And I'd much rather be a little sad but able to help than have your dream keep hurting you. Okay?"

"...Okay," Dick sniffed.

"Now, you want to tell me what your nightmare was about?"

"It...it was about Christmas. And...and the Joker."

_Christmas and the Joker,_ Bruce snarled the last word. _Two subjects that should never be combined getting all mixed up in your sleepy little head. Oh, kiddo..._ "Okay," he said evenly, encouraging him to continue. "So what happened?"

"It was like...it was like we were chasing him, but he kept getting away, and every time he got away he did something worse and worse. First he dressed up like Santa, and every time a kid came to sit on his lap he'd...he'd cut their throat. But we didn't catch him. Then he was still wearing a Santa costume, but he was dropping b-_bombs_ down people's chimneys and blowing up their houses. And we _still_ didn't get him, because at the last minute a helicopter with a red light on the front of it came down and picked him up. We didn't have the Batplane with us, so we couldn't go after him, and he got away. Then...then he had me, somehow," he gulped audibly. "He put a bow on my head, and he said we had to wait for you. He said that when you showed up he was going to...to open his present. He said he wanted to make sure you saw what was inside," a shudder washed through him. "...Inside of...of _me...I _was his present..."

Bruce's stomach was churning, a rotten mixture of rage, horror, and pity threatening to rise into his mouth. _You held that in, _he cried internally. _You held all of that in because you didn't want to make me sad on Christmas, and in return I tried to send you back to your room alone. I know I had no idea, but...jesus. What if you'd gone? You're traumatized enough just from your nightmare; I don't want to think about how damaged you would have been given three or four hours to mull things over by yourself. If you even could have held out that long, but...god, what an awful fucking vision. No wonder you couldn't go back to sleep,even with me right here. We need to get your mind off of that and onto the rest of the day... _

"It didn't happen, baby," he moaned. "It didn't. You're safe, right here with me, and Joker's still in Arkham. Everything's okay," he told himself as much as the boy. "Everything's okay, and in a few more hours it will be time for Christmas. Just think about how much fun that will be, huh? You have _tons_ of presents downstairs, and your stocking is so heavy Alfred had to put a paperweight on top of the hook to keep it from falling off the mantel."

"...It is?" Dick asked wonderingly, the tension that had been in his voice while he told his story easing a bit.

"It really is. Just think," he lay back slowly, keeping the child folded in his arms as he did. "Just think about how it'll be when we get up. Alfred will bring hot cocoa and cookies, and we'll have Christmas music on...we can even start the train going around the tree if you want, at least once we move some of your gifts so it doesn't run into them. It was snowing when I came in from patrol, too, big fat flakes. Good snowman snow."

"...Snowman..." reached his ears drowsily.

"That's right, snowman snow," he, too, began to get carried away by the picture he was painting. "And don't forget our French toast, and the fresh orange juice – assuming you have room after all those cookies you're going to earn by sleeping in, of course – and dinner later on, too. We can play all day long if you want, chum. All day," he promised. "Any game you want. I won't even look at the study, you know I don't on Christmas. Anything you want to do..." He trailed off, listening to the soft, even breathing coming from the figure that had curled up on top of him. _Fast asleep,_ he sighed. _You just needed to talk it out, that was all. _"There's my good boy," he whispered, pulling the blankets up carefully over them both. "Sweet dreams, son. I'll see you for Christmas." As the last syllable fell from his lips, his eyes closed, and he, too, slumbered.

"...Bruce?"

It was much less difficult for him to give up his pillow this time, and as he looked down to find Dick staring at him he couldn't help but smile. _You look happy this morning,_ he noted. _Good. All kids should be happy on Christmas, and __you__ should be happy all the time. _"...How many cookies did you earn, chum?"

"Um...were we counting from midnight?"

The billionaire chuckled. "Sure, why not?"

"Then I get nine cookies," the child beamed.

"_Nine_?" he faked shock. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner? Now you're going to have a sugar rush all day," he teased, keeping him pinned with one hand and tickling him with the other. "You know what that means; I have to wear you out now so that Alfred doesn't have my head later. I guess I'm just going to have to do this until you stop fighting."

"Nooo!" Dick squealed delightedly, wriggling in a hopeless attempt at escape.

"Yeeees. I won't know I've depleted your energy reserves until you stop fighting me, now will I?"

"I caaaan't..."

"Then I guess you're going to have to wait a while to attack that big old tree downstairs. It's a shame, Alfred's probably starting to wonder where we are."

Dick slithered free finally, tumbled off the bed and onto his feet, and stood watching his guardian and panting. "You can't reach me now," he grinned.

"You want to bet?" Bruce rolled over and made a grab for him.

"Eep!" the boy scampered out of the way just in time, giggling.

"...Okay, truce," the billionaire deemed as he sat up on the edge of the mattress. _Somehow I think your nightmare isn't bothering you so much any more,_ he thought, relieved. _You're a bit too giggly for that._ "C'mere a second."

"Is this a trap?"

"Would I tell you if it was?"

"Well, no, I guess not."

"Right. But come here anyway." When the child was within range, he pulled him close and squeezed him for a long second. "Have a merry Christmas, Dicky," he all but ordered him.

"I will if you will," came back.

"It's a deal," Bruce agreed, sweeping the boy up and tossing him over his shoulder as he stood.

"Aah, it _was_ a trap! Cruuuud!"

Under that false protest, Christmas Day began for real in the halls of Wayne Manor.


	13. The Picture of Promise

"Knock knock."

Tim looked up from the heavy tome spread open across his knees to find Dick leaning into the room. "Hey," he greeted, both eyebrows rising in surprise. "I didn't think you were going to be able to come over tonight."

"I didn't think I was either, but it's amazing the kind of miracles that can be wrought by offering to work double shifts on New Year's Day."

"...You did that last year and ended up going ninety-seven hours straight without sleep," the younger male narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky you didn't get yourself killed, considering the things you were doing during that stretch. Don't you remember how I had to threaten to drug you and tell Bruce in order to get you to finally go to bed?"

"I remember, I remember," the concern was waved away. "But there were other things going on then that I had to take care of. You know, you were there for most of them. This year should be much quieter."

"Gee, thanks for jinxing it."

"Since when do you believe in stuff like that?" the figure in the doorway teased.

Tim's gaze fell back to the book in his hands. "...I don't," he said slowly. "I'd just prefer not to have to go to any funerals in the next twelve months, that's all."

Sighing, Dick came inside and perched by his brother's feet. "I promise I won't go more than forty-eight hours this time without at least a nap," he swore gently. "We do forty-eights all the time, you know I'll be fine if I limit it to that. Okay?"

"...You promise?" He felt silly asking for such a childish thing at their ages, but the request slipped out before he could catch it. _It's important,_ he swallowed. _Especially this year._

Smiling, the man on the edge of the mattress held up a loose fist with one digit extending from it. "I'll even go so far as to pinky promise, if it'll make you feel better," he offered, his tone joking despite the grave commiseration in his eyes.

"It does, for some weird reason," Tim admitted as he linked his own little finger with the one that had been proffered. "But if I find out you're so much as one minute over-"

"I know, you'll tell Bruce and then volunteer to hold me down so _he _can drug me into submission. Got it."

"Right." A beat passed. "So you're here," he went on finally, "but you didn't go out on patrol with Batman?"

"He'd already left by the time I got here, and when Alfred told me that you'd stayed in and were up here by yourself..." Dick shrugged. "I thought I'd come see what you were up to and just surprise Bruce when he gets back. So...what's up with you this lovely Christmas Eve?"

"Like you don't already know," Tim grimaced. "Sometimes being surrounded by a bunch of detectives is extremely annoying. Especially when you want privacy."

His visitor watched him for a long moment without speaking. "...I can go if you want, Timmy," he offered. "I didn't mean to butt in, I just thought... Well, I had an inkling that you might be dealing with something I'm fairly familiar with tonight, and I wanted to let you know I'm here if you need anything. It's okay if you'd prefer to be alone; I understand, and no hard feelings."

"I...I appreciate that. I think I want you to stay, though. I _thought_ I wanted to be by myself, but...you're good at convincing me otherwise sometimes."

"Part of my job description," Dick winked. "...Photo album?" he inquired, nodding towards the leather-bound pages he couldn't quite see from his angle.

"Yeah. I spent a couple days over at the house last month," he revealed as he turned a page reverently. "I didn't know, but...dad had been working on putting pictures in books for a while before he...you know. I couldn't believe we had so many when I found them all spread out. I sure as hell don't remember them taking so many photos when I was a kid. I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention," he mused dourly. "Anyway, he was partway through with this one, and I just kind of felt like finishing it. I think he had a system, but I just took the stuff I wanted to fill up the rest. His half makes sense; mine doesn't."

"If it makes sense to you, Timmy, then that's all that matters."

Tim didn't respond for a long moment, staring instead at where the book's many leaves came together. "...You know, it's funny that you showed up when you did," he commented finally.

"Why's that?"

"Because I was thinking about you earlier tonight, when I first pulled this out." He flipped towards the front of the book as he spoke, stopping a few pages from the cover and sliding something from a plastic pocket. "You'll appreciate this."

Dick took the four-by-six he was handed and turned it over. "Oh, yeah," he breathed sadly, examining the circus boy and the serious toddler they had once been. "How could I ever forget that night?" Taking a deep breath, he handed the relic back. "Only two good things came out of that evening," he ruled. "That picture portends one of them."

"You know, I...I thought something funny when I looked at it earlier," Tim disclosed.

"Hmm?"

"I thought it was odd that none of our parents stood with us for it." A curious blue gaze met his own. "It's practically superstition, I know, but...we're the only two in the frame, and now...now we're the only two left. And dad...dad's the one who took the picture. I remember, because he accidentally stuck his finger over part of the lens on the first try and he had to take it over. He took the picture, and was sort of _in_ one of them, and he's the one who lasted the longest. I don't really believe it means anything," he stated matter-of-factly, "it's just...weird."

"...I don't suppose you still have that camera somewhere?" Dick asked, frowning pensively. "It's just that there are about a hundred or two people I'd like to...shall we say preserve?"

"You do realize that there's absolutely no scientific basis to what you just suggested, right?"

"Sure. But that doesn't preclude a guy from hoping, does it?" He shook his head suddenly, laughing at himself. "I'm kidding. We both know your dad's camera doesn't have any magical powers."

"Sure," Tim echoed. "But I guess that fact doesn't preclude a guy from _wishing_ it did."

"Nope. Not in the least."

"...Dick?"

"Yeah, Timmy?"

"Your first Christmas without your parents...was it different?"

"In almost every possible way," Dick confirmed, his voice carrying a hint of hoarseness. "There was no Christmas Eve show – the elephants always looked so unreal with their blankets and leads all decorated – and no going around to visit afterward. The tree was too big and the crowd around the dinner table was too small. The only thing that wasn't missing from before," a tiny smile arched his lips, "was the love. That was still there, and that was what made all of the unfamiliarity tolerable."

"...Your parent's love, you mean?" Tim pressed.

"And Bruce's, and Alfred's," the older man added. "I needed all of it to get through that season, and fortunately it was there for me. It's there for you, too," he insisted, touching the socked limb beside him gently. "You know that, right?"

"I know. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"I feel like I shouldn't be having such a hard time with this. I cried three separate time earlier today-"

"Aw, Timmy..."

"-and I don't really know _why_. The obvious reason is dad, of course, but...I had so much more practice for this than you and Bruce did. Part of me feels like I can't possibly feel as bad as you both did when it was _your_ first Christmases without your parents, but then there's another part that says what I'm feeling is just as valid. I don't want to believe that second part, but I can't make it shut up."

"My wager is that you can't make it shut up because you're always searching for the truth at the heart of every matter, and that part of you is the one telling the truth. You said you had more practice, right, and that's why you shouldn't feel so bad?"

"Yeah. I mean...look, my parents loved me, but we didn't really...you know...spend a lot of time together. It got better around the holidays, but even then they were always going somewhere. There was more than one holiday where I barely even saw them. Even so, the Christmas after mom died was hard. But...it wasn't _this_ hard," he colored slightly in shame. "Maybe it was because, even though he was in a coma, I still had dad. Now, though...there's no coming back now, not for either of them. And that's...that's impossible to think about, even though I've had so many rehearsals."

"Listen, this...this isn't like doing a flip or speaking a language," Dick explained. "Grief isn't something you get better at with time. You can't _practice_ missing someone you lose suddenly, trust me. The feeling changes somewhat depending on your relationship to the person, but...it still hurts like nothing else in the world ever could. You could spend hours a day imagining how it would be if someone in particularly died the very next day, and when that day finally comes I guarantee you _still_ wouldn't be ready for it. It would still wrench at your soul and tear at your heart, because death is an extinguishing of hope. You will _never_ get good at death, Timmy," he intoned, holding the younger man's gaze. "That's part of what marks us as human. We hope, we lose hope, and we find it again; that's just how we are."

"...I think I hate that," Tim told him.

"We all do. Don't you dare feel bad for feeling bad this Christmas," he ordered. "You have just as much right to that emotion as Bruce and I did after our parents, and after Jason, and after everyone else we've loved and outlived. I wish like hell that you didn't have to deal with it, but I'll be damned if I sit here and let you rag on yourself for going through that unavoidable ordeal. So stop it, huh?"

Tim stared at him for an endless moment, then turned his head away. "...Dick?" he ventured for the second time that night.

"Hmm?"

"...Can I have a hug, please?"

There was no answer, just a warm presence that materialized at his side and wrapped him up in its arms. A chin, almost as pixie-pointy as it had been in the decade-and-a-half old photo he still held, came to rest on top of his head, and they began to rock back and forth. There were no words between them; none were needed, their shared experience easily filling the gap usually bridged by speech. It was only after Tim closed the photo album and set it aside some quarter-hour later that the silence was breached. "I love you, little brother," Dick whispered fiercely, squeezing him.

"I love you too," Tim managed. "Would...would you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Don't patrol after your double on New Year's? I know it's dumb, but-"

"Okay," came an easy agreement.

"...Really?"

"Really. Call it a Christmas Eve present. Here," he released the younger man in order to offer him not one, but two fists. "I promise. Regular shift, New Year's Eve patrol, my double shift, then a solid night's rest before my next work day."

"...You already pinky promised me about 48 hours, though," the damp-eyed figure frowned at the curled hands.

Dick gave an artificially heavy sigh. "Did you even _go_ to elementary school, Timmy? A double pinky promise supersedes a regular pinky promise, everyone knows that."

For the first time since he'd gotten up that morning, Tim laughed. It was only a short, dry guffaw, but the amusement behind it was legitimate, and it lightened the load that had been on his heart all day. "I assume that by 'everyone' you mean you and all the ten-year-old girls in the world?"

"At least a ten-year-old girl wouldn't question that two pinkies are stronger than one," Dick rebutted. "Now are you going to pinky-swear me, or not?"

"If it keeps you off the roofs on the night of the first, then fine," he gave in. "There. Now you're stuck with your promise."

"I'm okay with that."

"You better be." He stood up, stretching muscles that had been dormant since dinner. "...Up for a bit of sparring until Bruce gets back? I could go for some moving around."

"Sure. I've been working on an attack you might like; it's not so much acrobatic as just plain sneaky," Dick bounced his eyebrows enticingly. "I'll share, if you want."

"New tactics? You know, it's funny, but...that sounds a lot better than sitting up here by myself and crying over old pictures. Just saying."

"I'm so happy to hear that that I might even let you beat me once or twice."

"Ooh, now you're asking for it."

"Race you to the clock."

"You're on."

As Dick leaped up to give chase to his brother, a photo slipped unnoticed from the closed album that had been left behind. The two young faces that smiled up from it had no idea what lay in their futures, but it didn't matter; they'd been happy in that captured instant together, and that had been enough.

Fifteen years later, with their laughter echoing back behind them, it still was.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this little piece. I think it was one of my favorite ones to write. I was surprised to learn while researching this story just how long a human being can stay awake; if you're interested in the official numbers, check out the Scientific American article I posted on my blog (accessible via my profile page).**

**On a completely different note, Young Justice fans should prepare themselves, as tomorrow is YJ Christmas movie night! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me, double thanks to those who have reviewed, and happy reading!**


	14. Cinema Justice

"Schoooool's out for the winter!" Robin and Kid Flash sang their version of a well-known song across the lounge at each other.

"Oh my _god_, you two, shut _up_!" Artemis ordered, plastering her hands over her ears and glaring.

"It's a good song!" Wally protested. "What, aren't you_ glad_ that there's no school for two weeks?"

"Yeah!" Robin vaulted over the back of the couch and landed beside her. "Just think about all that extra time you're going to get to spend with us," he smirked.

"All the extra time I get to spend putting up with you, you mean?" she retorted.

"Ouch," the boy pouted dramatically. "You don't want to spend time with me?"

"Not if you're going to sing or be annoying in some other way," she ruled airily.

"Jeez, Artie, wrong phase of the moon or something?" KF stepped in to back up his best friend.

"Uh, _no, _and anyway this is _your_ fault."

"_My_ fault? How?!"

"Robin wasn't being annoying until you got him singing that _stupid_ song, that's how!"

"It's not a stupid so-"

"Excuse me," Kaldur broke in, finally looking up from the book he'd been intent on all morning. "I'm sorry, but even putting the quality of the song aside you were both being unnecessarily loud."

"Well..." Wally started uncertainly.

"We're _bored_," Robin finished.

Artemis and Kaldur exchanged an incredulous look. "You've been running around shouting at the tops of your lungs about how great it is that it's school break until the New Year, but you're already bored?!" the girl sputtered. "You're _excited_ to be bored for the next two weeks?"

"That's what school breaks are all _about_," the boy seated beside her explained. "You finally have a chance to be bored. All of your normal obligations are cut in, like, half. No class, no teachers, no homework, no tests. Plus, doing nothing makes time seems to go slower, right? So if we're bored, time slows down, and the break lasts longer. So...yup, we're excited that we're bored."

"Rob came up with that theory," Wally shared, all but vibrating with excitement. "Isn't that _genius_?"

"...It seems that no matter how much time I spend with humans, there are certain aspects that I'm never going to understand about them," Kaldur opined, shaking his head.

"Don't lump me in with them," Artemis requested. "Being bored on vacation isn't my idea of a good time. But neither is listening to you two sing until my ears bleed," she added pointedly.

"But we're _bored_!" Robin and Wally chanted together, laughing.

"You could try enlightening yourselves somehow," the Atlantean suggested as his gaze returned to the tome in his hands.

"Fat chance," Artemis muttered.

"Or at least do something quieter if you're going to stay in this room," their leader said firmly. "Please."

"He doesn't like our singing either, Wals," Robin craned his neck to inform his friend. "And here _I_ thought we were pretty good."

"Eh, they can't help their poor taste in music," KF shrugged, moving around the couch to drop beside the younger teen. "So...what do you want to do? Superboy's in the gym," his face brightened with an idea. "We could go sing at him."

"Yeah, do that," Artemis interjected. "Maybe if we're lucky he'll smack the idiocy right out of you."

"Party pooper," Robin accused her. "...Anyway, I think I'm kind of done with singing for a little while."

"Well...what should we do, then?"

"I dunno." They sat for a long moment, gazing around the room in search of something that wouldn't make the hours fly by but that would also hold their attention enough to keep them awake. "...What about a movie?"

"That sounds too interesting. It might speed time _up_."

"Not if we watch something that we've seen before. It's harder to get excited then, and since you know what's coming you're acutely aware of the time that's passing, so you can really savor it."

"Um, all that 'slowing down time' stuff is ridiculous," Artemis contributed. "...But I'd be up for watching a Christmas movie."

"A Christmas movie?" Wally wrinkled his nose. "Yuck."

"It _would_ meet the criteria we're looking for," Robin considered. "Think about it, KF; we've both seen a fair number of Christmas movies, so the odds are pretty good we'd be watching something we've seen before. As awesome as Christmas is, Christmas _movies_ tend to be kind of boring and repetitive, especially if you watch a bunch of them back to back. But at the same time there have been so many made that there's just enough variety in the available selection to keep you from wandering away or falling asleep." He paused. "I think we should do more than watch a Christmas movie. I think we should have a Christmas movie _marathon_."

"So long as I can reserve the right to walk away if you two pick something stupid like _Die Hard_, I'm in," Artemis agreed.

"_Die Hard_ is amazing!" Wally protested.

"It's not a Christmas movie!" the girl shot back.

"It's too exciting for our purposes, anyway," Robin sighed. "Unfortunately."

"...I don't think I've ever watched a Christmas movie," Kaldur said thoughtfully, drawing three pairs of eyes around to him. "I understand the concept behind the holiday, of course, but there's so much cultural baggage that's been attached to it that it's very difficult to get a good grasp on it. That's why I've been reading this all morning," he lifted his book so that they could see the faded script on the spine that spelled out _'A Christmas Carol.'_ "If you're going to watch movies that are considered classics of the season, I'd like to join you."

Robin, grinning broadly as his suggestion took root, turned to the only person present who hadn't fully pledged their support. "Wally?"

"...Okay, let's do it," the redhead nodded. "But if we're doing a marathon, we're going to need food. I vote for pizza."

"Yes!" Robin cheered. "Let's get pepperoni with green peppers so that it's in Christmas colors!"

"Uh, _ew_," Artemis protested, crossing her arms. "Even if it _is_ Christmas colors, that's gross."

"I'll just place the order for our usual assortment," Kaldur proposed, rising and heading for the kitchen phone.

"Order an extra cheese one for me!" Wally called after him. "I'm starving."

"Cheese pizza," the dark-haired boy pondered aloud. "...I think I know what our first movie should be. Our first _two_ movies, actually."

"How come you get to pick first _and_ second?" Artemis challenged.

"Because this marathon was my idea, because cheese pizza goes perfectly with my choices, and because the second movie is a sequel to the first," he ticked off on his fingers. "I think we should start with _Home Alone _and _Home Alone 2._" Neither of the others spoke. "...Objections?"

"...I do like both of those movies," the girl admitted.

"That kid Kevin comes up with some crazy stuff to catch the bad guys. Works for me," KF nodded. "But...this is kind of starting to sound _not_ boring, Rob," he pointed out. "How are we supposed to draw out the vacation if we're eating pizza, drinking soda, and watching funny movies? That's not so much boring as...well..._awesome_."

"Hmm..." The youngest of the group thought hard for a minute. "Well, to be fair, this is the first day of break, right? So really, we have _tons_ of time to make go slower over the next two weeks, and it'll be super easy to be bored after Christmas is over. We can afford to waste a _little _time this weekend, so long as we make it up by being extra bored next Saturday. Make sense?"

Wally squinted at him for a second, then shrugged. "You're the mastermind, bro. And it is _way_ easier to be bored after Christmas."

"Okay, so," he leaped to his feet, "Artie, you get M'gann – she's in her room, I think – KF, you get Conner, and I'll get the movie ready. Let's get this party started!"

* * *

Two hours later found the Mount Justice lounge silent save the movie's audio and the occasional crunching of popcorn. Kaldur had tugged his chair up closer to the television and sat with his book abandoned on his knees, his eyes fixed on the screen. On the couch beside him Robin was flanked by the female members of the team, who had both brought their blankets and pillows from their rooms and were half-invisible amongst all of the material. The floor was taken up by KF and Superboy, the latter sitting cross-legged at M'gann feet and watching the TV almost as raptly as Kaldur was, the former sprawled out and giving the occasional groan as the three and a half pizzas he'd eaten settled.

The credits rolled, and everyone save Wally stirred. "Should I put in the sequel?" Robin asked, stretching languorously.

"There's another one of those?!" the Martian on his left queried happily.

"Yup!" he affirmed. "There's a third one, too, but..."

"Ew," Artemis contributed.

"Let's not and say we did," Wally burped. "Sorry."

"Yeah, it's not so great," the dark-haired boy topped off.

"Oh, let's watch the second one, though!" M'gann pleaded. "The first one was so good!"

"...Guys?" Robin glanced around for other opinions.

"I enjoyed the main character's self-sufficiency," Kaldur put in. "And the lesson at the end about family fit with what I already knew about the meaning of this time of the year for humans. Does the next one offer those things, as well?"

"It does," Artemis nodded.

"And even better traps for the bad guys," KF added.

"Heh," Conner laughed shortly. "Those were funny. If there are better ones in the next movie, I want to see them."

"...So it's unanimous? Sweet!" Robin exclaimed, wriggling out from between the girls with his drink in hand and stepping carefully over his best friend. "...Wally, hit the button, would you?"

"So much work..." the red head complained amiably, lifting his foot and stabbing at the proper machine with his big toe. "There," he said, sounding satisfied as the disc tray slid open.

"Okay, all set," Robin skipped back to his seat. "You've got the remote, Artie."

"Do I?" she puzzled. "Oh. I'm totally sitting on it."

"Smooth," Wally complimented sarcastically. "Hey!"he frowned in instant later when she reached over to nudge his head with her heel in retaliation.

"Shut up and watch the movie, pizza hog," she teased, her words mean but her lips wearing a tiny smile. "What are we putting in after this, anyway? I like _Home Alone_, but they aren't really, you know, classics."

"They're cultural cornerstones of Christmas!" the boy beside her argued. "And they're older than any of us are, so...yeah. I think they qualify."

"There is a movie I read about when we paused to make the popcorn earlier," Kaldur spoke up, "that is supposed to be one of the most important Christmas films there are. Have any of you seen _It's A Wonderful Life_?"

"Ugh," Kid Flash and Robin gagged simultaneously.

"It's an okay story," Artemis shrugged. "I don't mind watching it."

"What's it about?" M'gann asked curiously.

"A guy who tries to kill himself on Christmas Eve," the figure draped across the carpet answered. "Until an angel makes him realize that he's being an idiot."

"It's completely unbelievable," Robin agreed.

"Because 'kid tricks two criminals into getting arrested multiple times' is a totally credible premise," the archer retorted.

A masked, pointed face turned to her. "...Isn't it?" it's owner asked plaintively.

"He's not you, or any of the rest of us, either. _We_ had training; he just pulled all that stuff out of nowhere."

"...I still think that's way more believable than his parents losing him _twice_ in almost the exact same way," Wally broke in. "I mean, _duh_."

"The movie Kaldur suggested sounds interesting," M'gann brought the conversation back on track. "But...does it end happily? It sounds like it's kind of sad at the beginning."

"It ends happy," the other female assured her. "That's three for _It's A Wonderful Life_ and two against."

"Superboy, save us!" Robin tried to coerce the final voter. "If you can get us into a tie we'll either have to table the question or enter debate, and you _know_ I'll win a debate!"

"You also know you _don't_ want to watch that dumb movie," Wally encouraged.

Conner looked at them both, then glanced over his shoulder at the hopeful look on the face of the girl behind him. "...It sounds sappy," he started.

"_Yes_!" two voices celebrated.

"...But I don't mind watching it," he finished.

"Hooray!" M'gann cheered.

"Aw, crap! Rob, we lost the vote!" KF decried.

"Stupid hormones," the younger boy sighed. "Okay, okay, we relent. We'll watch that next. But for now, more bad guy catching," he directed Artemis.

"I'm on it," she nodded, and hit play.

And so it went into the wee hours of the morning. Fresh batches of popcorn were popped, six packs of soda vanished from the refrigerator, and the ratio of blankets in the bedrooms versus the lounge steadily shifted as everyone began to nest in front of the television. When Robin moved down to the floor so that he and Wally could make fun of _It's A Wonderful Life_ without getting yelled at, Conner took his place, accepting half of M'gann's comforter as soon as she offered it. After Kaldur's suggestion had ended, Artemis proposed _A Christmas Story,_ which provided enough laughs to keep them going past midnight. Kid Flash, deciding that if they were going to throw their plan to slow time via boredom out the window they ought to do it thoroughly, tried to rally support for _Die Hard_; his motion failed, however, and he backed down to a more acceptable choice of _The Santa Clause_.

That story was winding down when a cowled figure entered from the direction of the transport room. None of the young heroes so much as twitched at the invasion, all far too lost in their dreams to have noticed it. For a moment the man simply stood, observing them as they slept. _Christmas movie night,_ he judged, taking in the stack of both selected and rejected DVD cases beneath the TV. _Well, at least you'll all be rested for the mission I'm sending you on in the morning..._

As if he had heard and was trying to disprove him, Robin shifted beneath his blanket, voicing a tiny moan. _Stop,_ Batman grimaced, staring at his sleeping child. _You're surrounded by your friends_ _and just spent the evening in a pleasurable pursuit. There's no call for you to be having nightmares. _The boy moved again, this time a bit more violently, another puff of uncomfortable air escaping his lips. _Damn it, this is a completely impossible situation for me to comfort you in..._

A moment later, however, he saw that his services in that realm were unneeded. As the second murmur ended, Wally, passed out on the carpet beside the disturbed boy, frowned. Giving an answering grunt, he flung one arm out and groped until his hand came to rest on Robin's exposed wrist. The younger teen's expression eased immediately, and peace was restored to the assembly. _Much better,_ Batman gave a short nod of approval when the whimpering didn't start again. _...I wonder now at the hesitation I felt in seeing this group formed,_ he mused. _It seems as if you're all happy here, with each other. I suppose Superman was right – for once – about pushing you to form strong bonds now rather than waiting until you were grown. Whatever the case,_ one corner of his mouth hitched a little higher as he caught sight of the vague smile now gracing his son's lips, _he's__ happy here, and that is sufficient argument for me at this juncture._

With all well in the lounge and no further purpose in the Mountain besides stalking, Batman picked up the remote that had fallen from the arm of the couch at the behest of Artemis' elbow and shut off the movie. Replacing it beside her, he cast a final look over the gathering. _Sleep well, children; you're going to need it tomorrow. The Christmas season is a prime time for crime...but then I suppose you already know that, thanks to Hollywood. Guaranteed, you won't be bored this holiday. _He hesitated, considered taking a picture for the mentors of the others, and then decided it was too soft of a gesture. _Good night,_ he wished silently instead. _From all of us who are getting the gift of watching you grow together._

And then he was gone, leaving the six curled close by one another in the blackness.


	15. The Light That Must Not Fade

**Author's Note: I hadn't planned on it, but this little piece is going to be the first half of another two-part story. Part two will post tomorrow, and will bring Damian in. Happy reading!**

* * *

The tree was beautiful, but it haunted Dick as he sat staring at it grimly after patrol a few days before Christmas. _This feels wrong,_ he thought hoarsely. _Having Christmas with you gone...I don't know if I can do it._

Alfred, he was certain, had noticed his utter lack of holiday spirit, although the butler had been kind enough to not mention it. He'd gone further than that, now that Dick stopped and thought about it, keeping the house décor low-key and, for the first time in almost twenty years, canceling the annual Wayne Manor Christmas gala. _He didn't even ask if I wanted to have it,_ he realized as he watched the shadow of an ornament shudder in a micro-breeze. _He just __knew__. Alfred...thank god I still have you. If it weren't for you, I don't think I'd have ever gotten out of Bruce's bed after the funeral. Telling me I had to curtail my grief for Damian's sake was cruel at the time, but...you weren't wrong._ An amused little smirk twisted his lips. _You rarely are._

_Bruce,_ he invoked his surrogate father's name silently, as had become his wont to do in the two months since the man's passing, _I hate this. I want to have Christmas for Dami, even if he does seem to care more about the presents than anything else, but...it feels wrong. Every time I buy something for him that would normally come from __you__, I want to cry, and every time I see something that I would have bought for you if you weren't...if there was a point to doing so,_ he corrected himself,_ I __do__ cry. I put on a brave face as best I can when I'm around other people, but...this is impossible. _

_ I thought it would be like the first year after I lost my parents,_ he mused._ This is going to sound terrible, Bruce, but it's worse than that was. It's worse because I had you to comfort me then, and that made things so much easier. Alfred tries, but he's dealing with his own seasonal demons, and I can only imagine how much more painful even than my remembrances of you his must be. I try to be my old self for him, too, and I know it helps a little because I managed to make him smile twice this week. Still though, I...I feel like such a fake._

_ Some asshole from the Foundation called the other day. Did I mention that before? _He paused, waiting for an answer that couldn't possibly come._ I don't think I did. Anyway, she called, and Alfred was out grocery shopping so I picked up the phone. It was a normal conversation for the most part, all money and projects and fundraisers, until we started winding down. That was when she asked me how we were 'holding up' this Christmas._ He gave a soft snort, the only sound save the radiator in the quiet room. _I could tell she was just trying to be nice, but I wanted to smack her for asking something so difficult and so __not__ any of her business._

_ ...I took Dami sledding the other day,_ his mind switched gears. _He had fun, I know, even though he wouldn't admit to it. We went out to the North Hill. I almost fricking cried again, thinking about all the times you and I went out there and played in the snow until dark, but...he was watching. He was watching, and even though he'd never confess to this either I know it bothers him when I'm obviously upset about you. I don't know if it's because he thinks he should feel grief on the same level as I am and just doesn't, or what, but I see it in his eyes._ He swallowed heavily. _...He has your eyes, Bruce. Did you ever notice that? I can't seem to __stop__ noticing it..._

His mental report was cut off by a soft step in the hall. "...Master Dick?" Alfred's voice queried from behind him. "Is everything all right? I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I'm...not tired yet," Dick answered, bowing his head as he lied through his teeth. _No, that's wrong; I'm exhausted. The Batman gear is so damn heavy it's a miracle I can do anything in it,_ he complained silently. _ I don't think I've ever ached so much after normal patrols as I do lately. I'm going to be completely screwed if I have to go up against someone like Bane in that get-up...I don't know how you stood it, Bruce, I really don't._

"Ah," the butler replied knowingly. "If you say so, sir." A beat passed. "Would you like me to turn on the tree? It came out rather well, if I do say so myself."

"...I guess. It doesn't really matter, I'll probably go upstairs soon." _Leave it dark, _he nearly changed his mind as the older man moved to the back of the conifer and rustled about for a moment. _At least that way it will match how I feel._

"There," Alfred nodded, moving back once his chore was complete. "That's better, I think. You're certainly less likely to end up with eyestrain this way, if nothing else."

"Yeah. Thanks, Alfred." _I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm being like this, but...I can't help it. I just don't feel like being bright and happy when I'm facing a Christmas without Bruce. Please understand, Alfred..._

To his surprise, a pair of callused, experienced hands landed on his shoulders without warning. "Calm down, child," the Englishman murmured when he started slightly at the touch. "Try as you might to hide it, I can tell how you've been feeling of late. Helping to a raise a person tends to confer that ability, as I'm sure you're already learning when it comes to Master Damian."

"Yeah..." The single word drew out into a soft groan as skilled thumbs dug into both of his trapezius muscles. "Oowww..."

"I've ordered you new armor," information rained down on him softly. "I think you'll find it much closer in weight to the array you wore as Nightwing."

"Good...but – oh, right there – won't that reduce the amount of punishment I can take in it?" _We talked about this,_ he frowned. _We agreed that Batman's fighting style needed to not change drastically in order to keep up the strength of the legend. _"I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, I just want to make sure the new stuff will absorb blows like that clunky junk I'm wearing now does."

"It will, I assure you," Alfred promised as his fingers moved up his charge's neck and onto his scalp. "It's lighter, but no less durable nor more penetrable. I would hardly send you out to fight in inferior equipment."

"I know, it's just..." He sighed. "So many changes. That's all."

"Yes, there have been many of those of late," the butler's tone grew distant. "But there are some things that we must not allow to change, no matter what happens."

"...I'm trying, Alfred," Dick said dully. "I'm _trying_, but it's just...it's just so hard."

"It is that, indeed, but you must persevere in spite of the hurt." He hesitated. "Master Damian has already begun to respond to you."

"What do you mean?"

"He's less abrasive now than he has been since he first came here. I believe he may have accidentally said thank you the other day, as a matter of fact."

Dick chuckled involuntarily. "'Accidentally' said thank you. Yeah, that's Dami."

"But he _did_ say it, and that is the pertinent point here. If you can just keep giving him an example of light," he murmured encouragingly, "you're likely to brighten his outlook – his entire life, perhaps – by quite a large degree. I know it's difficult," he acknowledged, "but to be fair, this wouldn't be the first time you've performed such a miracle on a member of his lineage."

"...It was different then, Alfred."

"Yes, and no. Yes for the obvious reasons; no because Master Damian is so like his father in basic character that it goes beyond being a laughing matter. He is as Master Wayne would have been at that age had he possessed the thread of cruelty that was trained so vigorously into Master Damian. He's looking to you for how to act now," his hands tightened, "but no matter how lovely and inspiring something may be in the dark, turning on the light takes it to an entirely different level." He gestured towards the tree, its ornaments sparkling in the reflected glow of miniature Christmas bulbs. "As you see, hmm?"

"...I get it," Dick said tersely, "but I need time to grieve. I'm not Bruce, I can't just tuck what I'm feeling away and let it rot."

"Far be it from me object to your need to grieve, Master Dick," the butler agreed. "You misunderstand me. I'm not suggesting that you stop your process of missing him. I'm simply advising that you mourn him in death the same way that you loved him in life; brightly. You two had a relationship unlike any I have ever seen before, or indeed expect to see again," he went on. "The trick is to celebrate what you had, not lament what you've lost."

"I know that. It's just...it just hurts. It doesn't matter how I think about it, it _hurts_. And I know I've gone through this entire process multiple times before without letting it drag me down, but...it's different this time. It's different because it was _him._" Tears welled in his eyes. "It was _him_, and now when I need him more than ever he's not here to tell me it's going to be okay."

"I know, dear boy," the Englishman whispered. "I know. But I assure you, things _will_ be all right, and I'll tell you why they will be so."

"Why? How can you know that?"

"I know that because during his own darkest moments these last fifteen years Master Wayne and I would have similar talks to the one we're having right now," he revealed. "And without fail he would say something that has stuck with me to this very day; that you, young sir, your presence, your verve, your lightness of being, was sufficient to make things seem all right again. I believe that you do, in fact, possess the gift of bringing others out of their pall, even the most stubborn of cases. But in this instance you have to bring yourself out of it first if you want to be of service to others. And if I dare say so, Master Dick," he squeezed him once more, "we both know that being of service to others has always been your highest calling."

"It is," the younger man concurred. "And I _am_ trying, Alfred. Honest, I...I don't like this any more than you do. I'm trying."

"I see you trying, every day, and I cannot relay to you how much I respect the monumental efforts you've been making. You're doing stupendously, so please don't interpret my words here tonight as chastisement; they were meant only to be encouraging. A pep talk, if you like." With a final pat on the shoulder, he turned to go. "Do try and get some rest though, won't you? We both know how difficult it is to fight battles on no sleep."

"I know. And I will."

"I'll postpone your breakfast in the morning to allow you a bit more time, hmm?"

"That would be good," Dick nodded. "And Alfred?" he craned his now much-looser neck around to spy the butler standing in the doorway.

"Yes, sir?"

"...Thank you."

"It's my pleasure entirely, Master Dick. Good night."

"Night." Turning back to the tree, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _It's hard, Bruce, _he squinted, blinking back tears. _It's so hard, but...you had faith that I could make things okay, apparently. And, well...if you believed in me that much, then I guess I ought to believe in myself a little more. Maybe then I can do for Dami what I seem to have done for...for you. Maybe then I really __can__ make things seem all right again. _Lifting his legs onto the couch, he slumped sideways until his head lay against the well-padded armrest. _All I know is that I'm going to do everything I can to not let you down. If there __is__ some sort of afterlife, then I hope...I hope I can make you proud in it. I'm sure going to try. _His eyes slipped shut, the hot points of color radiating from the tree fading slowly away as he slipped towards unconsciousness. _...I love you, dad. Merry Christmas._


	16. Is Strengthened by Reflection

"...You want to _what_?" Dick asked incredulously as he sat across the dining room table from Damian on Christmas Eve.

"Go look at lights," the boy repeated irritably, stabbing at the remnants of his chicken Parmesan as if it wasn't dead enough for his tastes.

"But...you said you were bored when we did that last year," the man shook his head, confused.

"Yeah, well...Pennyworth says I have to try everything twice before I decide to hate it, so...are we doing it, or not?"

"I-" _I don't know,_ Dick thought fumblingly. _I mean...it __is__ something I used to love to do, but...that was with Bruce. _Their viewing route had been different every year, he recalled as a wave of nostalgia hit him, but the bad jokes and the good hot cocoa had never changed. _Without him, I...I don't know if I'm ready for that._

"Of course you're doing it, Master Damian," Alfred answered for him, hustling in from the kitchen to clear the dishes. "You wouldn't want Master Dick and I to have all of the fun, would you?"

"I wouldn't-"

"Very good."

"-if there was any fun to be had," the child finished under his breath.

"In the spirit of the season, young sir," the butler sent a warning glance at his younger charge as he took his plate, "I'll pretend that I didn't hear the second part of your statement. Now, if you'll both go on into the foyer and get bundled up, I'll be with you shortly."

Rolling his eyes, Damian followed orders and headed for the front of the house. Dick lingered, however, his expression uncertain. "Alfred, I don't know if I can do this," he begged. "If it was anything else, but..." _But this was always the best part of Christmas Eve,_ he gulped. _It was the best because Bruce always pushed back patrol for it, and that was how I knew that it was as important to him as it was to me. He loved this tradition, and doing it without him...it's practically sacrilege._

"Master Dick, I'm going to share something with you, and I don't want you to get upset about it," the Englishman said frankly.

"What is it?"

"Master Damian is lying to you."

"...Huh?"

"Don't tell him I told you this, but it was he who requested that we go to look at the lights tonight. His negative attitude just now was a falsehood."

"Wait..._Damian_ asked if we could go?" Dick boggled. "But...why?"

"I believe he may have enjoyed the outing more than he let on last year. Regardless of his reason, however, I could hardly say no; after all, this is the first holiday event that he's shown any real interest in besides tomorrow morning's emptying of the tree."

"I just thought...huh," the younger adult puzzled. "I'm...I'm really glad he wants to do something, Alfred," he shared slowly. "But...I don't know if I'm ready. Not...not for this." _Why couldn't it have been something else? Making cookies, or wrapping presents, or...or __anything?_

"Ready or not, sir, if you rebuff him-"

"I know," Dick cut him off. "Sorry. I know. I just...look, it's been a little better since we talked the other night, okay? That helped me...reframe some things, I guess. But this...I don't want to hurt Dami's feelings, but he's not going to have much fun if I'm crying the entire time."

"You have far greater self-control than you're giving yourself credit for, I think," the butler said sagely. "In fact-"

"Are you two coming?" Damian, already wearing his coat and boots, stuck his head back into the dining room to demand. "From the map I saw, we're going to be out all fricking night, so let's _go _already."

The impatient petulance with which the boy made his query wasn't enough to overshadow the fact that it was he who had suggested the trip, and Dick found himself unable to deny such a simple hope any longer. "We're coming," he gave in. "...See you in the foyer, Alfred?"

"Of course, sir," he nodded approvingly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

"Holy lights-looking," Dick said numbly as he settled into the back seat of one of the Manor's less ostentatious cars and caught sight of the map Damian had been referring to. "...Alfred, this route takes us through half the residential neighborhoods in Gotham!" _We've never been display-searching in some of these areas before,_ he noted with relief. _Maybe those sections won't be as bad as the familiar ones..._

"To be honest, I initially had no intentions of being so ambitious," the butler confessed from the driver's seat. "However, I learned earlier today that some kind citizen takes the time each year to compile a list of all of the notable spots in the city and post it online. A few locations have been left out due to the mediocre reviews they were given, but I'd say we have a full evening ahead of us in any case."

"There are eighty-seven stops on that map," Damian informed his elder brother flatly.

"Eighty-seven?!" _Way to draw out the pain, Alfred. I know you didn't mean it that way, but Jesus... _"You weren't kidding, Dami, this _will_ take all night."

"You shan't starve no matter how long it takes, sirs," Alfred assured as they rolled through the gate. "On the floor between you you'll find a thermos of cocoa each as well as a lunch bucket full of snacks. Just in case you begin to feel peckish as we go," he said lightly.

_Just like always,_ Dick sighed to himself. _This is going to hurt..._

It did exactly that for the first few stops, all of which were at houses that had been featured on tours he'd taken with Bruce. He stared past them, pretending to look but focusing on the dark sky above instead. After the second display it occurred to him to search for the Bat signal, hoping against hope that it would appear and free him from the strange seasonal purgatory he'd found himself in. _It shouldn't be like this,_ he chastised himself. _This should be fun. It should be, but it isn't, and it...it can't be. How could it be?_

"Heh heh," a strange noise broke the silence as they pulled up to a generous suburban lawn shortly thereafter.

"...Did you just laugh at something?" Dick queried, turning away from the window to face Damian. "Whoa. Uh, hi," his lip twitched as he found the boy beside him rather than in his seat on the opposite side of the car. "See something funny?" _You're in a weird mood tonight, Dami. It's a nice mood, but...unexpected. I'm surprised this is amusing you so much._ _Not complaining, just...surprised._

"Tails."

"...What?"

"The reindeer tails are moving."

Dick peered at the several sheds that had been set up as an ersatz North Pole, each with its designated purpose and its own batch of animated figurines. Santa's pen moved up and down a scroll of names while Mrs. Claus moved cookies between the oven and the counter behind him; elves worked ceaselessly at fresh toys, hammers falling and paintbrushes swishing in a last-minute rush; a few feet over, their brethren loaded the goodies into a well-polished sleigh. At the very end of the line was the reindeer barn, where there were indeed several tails moving back and forth as their owners bent their heads for food or stood in order to be harnessed. "...That _is_ kind of funny," he had to admit, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Look, those two are in sync," Damian pointed out.

"Must be twins. Born in the same timing batch," Dick joked before he realized what he was doing. "...Or something."

"Heh. Yeah." With that final little guffaw, the boy withdrew to put his seat belt back on. "Next stop," he called up front.

_...You really __are__ enjoying this,_ the man beside him marveled. _Wow, Dami, I...I feel kind of bad for not paying more attention to you so far tonight. You even laughed at my joke just now..._ Chewing at his lip, he picked up the map. "The next one's on your side," he announced.

"Right around the corner, right?"

"Right." _...What did you do, memorize this thing? That was kind of odd, that you just knew that off of the top of your head. You knew how many stops there were, too...what's going on here?_ "Okay, that's impressive," he commented, his curiosity diverted as they turned onto a new street and came across a home bearing easily a hundred strings of white bulbs.

"It's bright. That's about all you can say for it," Damian pitched in.

"Someone had to put all of those up, though. I mean, they're on the roof and everything." He paused. "It's like the Griswold house."

"...What?"

"The Griswold house. In _National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation_." A blank look was turned to him. "No? Nothing?"

"The only Christmas movies I've seen are the ones you and Father forced me to watch last year," the child reminded him.

"...Oh," Dick shrank back slightly at the mention of Bruce. "Right."

Damian watched him for a second, then looked away, something akin to mild shame coloring his cheeks. "Anyway, it's a boring color. Next stop."

It took almost a full neighborhood for Dick to recover from the youth's slip of the tongue, but once he had he found himself enjoying the ride far more than he'd thought possible. _I know you're not here, Bruce,_ he murmured silently, _but...this is actually still pretty good. I wish you could have heard Dami laugh at those reindeer tails..._

"Sirs," Alfred spoke for the first time since they'd set out, "I would like to direct your attention to our next stop. I'll try to get us close, but it's my understanding that this particular show has been very popular this year."

"This wasn't on the map," Damian frowned.

"No, Master Damian, it was not. Nevertheless, I'm sure you'll want to stop once you learn that someone has coordinated their lights to flash in time with a selection of heavy metal songs."

The figures in the back seat exchanged a look. "That could be pretty neat," Dick said.

"Uh, _duh_. That's more than 'pretty neat,' Grayson. Get your descriptors in line," the boy answered, trying to look for the promised house surreptitiously and failing. "Where _is_ it?"

"Just a few more blocks, young sir," the butler replied, shooting his elder charge a pleased look as he spoke. "...Here we are. And we've landed a good spot, too, it seems."

"Perks of being out late," Dick ruled, noting the time. "It's almost ten. We ought to head home after this and get you to bed," he told Damian, who was once again hovering as close as he could get without actually touching him. "That way Santa can come."

He snorted. "Santa? You're shitting me, right?"

"_Language_, Master Damian!"

"Tell Grayson to quit being an idiot and thinking I believe in that Santa crap, and I'll quit cursing about it."

"Okay, peace, bro!" Dick threw up his hands. "That was a joke. I know you don't believe in Santa. Just teasing you." Struck by a wild desire, he reached up and ruffled the child's hair playfully. "Don't kill me," he added as a death glare was turned on him.

"If the show wasn't about to start I'd-"

At that moment it _did_ start, however, and all discussion of retaliation was immediately postponed in favor of watching the rapid-fire flashing taking place as the car was shaken by the music blasting from unseen speakers. Damian, almost gaping in his amazement, crawled into his brother's lap in an effort to see better, and was so distracted that he didn't protest when the man's arms wrapped loosely around him. They sat silently once the display ended, momentarily stunned. "...I can't believe no one's had a seizure from that yet," Dick remarked finally.

"Are you saying it _wasn't_...well...'pretty neat?'" Damian accused.

"I thought you said my descriptors needed work?"

"They do. I was simply couching my question in terms you'd understand."

"Oh-ho," Dick nearly chortled. "Was that a _challenge_?"

"Did you like the show, or not?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it isn't likely to activate someone's epilepsy. Did _you_ like it?" he threw back.

For a long beat there was no answer. "...Grayson?"

"Hmm?"

"...Would _he_ have liked it?"

Dick would have sworn he heard Alfred's breath catch in the front seat. The hand that had been wrapped around his heart for the last nine weeks tightened painfully...and then relented, loosening its grasp enough for him to answer more-or-less steadily. "Yeah, Dami," he said softly. "He would have thought it was spectacular...but he never would have used that word to describe it."

"Obviously. He wasn't given to overblown sentiments the way you are."

"Heh. No...no, he wasn't." He squeezed the child briefly. "You still haven't said what you thought of it, though."

Damian's gaze returned to the house that was now slowly turning its monumental display off, section after section going black until only the few lights shining in the windows remained. "...It was spectacular," he allowed quietly. "But don't tell anyone I said as much."

"Your secret's safe with me," Dick smiled softly. "Now get buckled in, would you? Let's go home, Alfred," he called forward. _Christmas Eve isn't quite over yet, and I've still got a couple things I want to do..._

* * *

"...What are you doing?" came a sleepy protest as Dick nudged a door open with his knee.

"Putting you to bed. You fell asleep in the car," he explained.

"I'm perfectly capable of...oh, to hell with it," Damian muttered. "I suppose you're going to be insufferable and insist on tucking me in, too?"

"Yup."

A heavy sigh was heaved. "_Fine_." He said nothing more as he was set down and the covers were pulled up, but as the man who had brought him in hesitated at the edge of the bed he spoke once more. "…Grayson?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Did you…enjoy yourself tonight?"

_…Wait, since when do you ask questions like that?_ Dick's eyes narrowed in the dark. _Alfred said you requested that we go out, you knew the map suspiciously well, and now you want to know if I had fun?_ "Dami," he whispered, awed as he came to a conclusion. "…Did _you_ put this all together tonight?"

"Why would I do _that_?" was the instant reply.

"Nice try, little brother," a broad grin spilled across his face as he discerned a trace of panic in the boy's tone. "You did the map and everything, didn't you?"

"I didn't…" A sigh. "Yes," was admitted grudgingly. "I told Pennyworth about the website I used. The only exception was that last place; I didn't know it existed until he took us to it."

"I didn't, either. I think it…it must have been new this year."

"Mm."

"…Dami?"

"What?"

"Thank you." _I didn't think I could do it, but…you proved me wrong._ "Thank you for making it okay for me to enjoy…certain things…again. Without…without Bruce."

"Does that mean you're going to quit being such a mopey bitch now?"

Dick laughed. "It means it's going to be a bit easier for me to smile again, which is something I've been having trouble with of late."

"You're telling me."

"Aww, did you miss my smile?" the man teased.

"…You get dark when you're truly sad," came back seriously. "It's…unpleasant. That's why I proposed tonight's outing; I was sick of your miserable attempts at melancholy."

"Well, I can't guarantee I'll never be sad again," Dick said softly, moved by the veiled care in the child's comment. "But I'll try not to be a 'mopey bitch' about it anymore."

"That would be the safest course of action. I only have so much patience, you know."

"Uh-huh," he smiled, bending down to brush a kiss against the boy's temple. _You didn't fight me, or wipe it away,_ he celebrated as he straightened a moment later. _Look at you, acting like a person._ "Good night, Dami. I love you."

"Oh, Christ, I forgot how sappy you are when you're happy," a grim sigh sounded.

"That rhymed."

"…Shut up, Grayson," Damian ordered, a faint grin lurking behind the demand.

"Sure thing." Dick stood. "I'll let you go to sleep so Santa can come." With that he sauntered towards the exit, waiting for a rebuttal. It came in the form of a pair of hastily kicked-off socks, which were balled up and lobbed at the back of his head. As they bounced off, a fresh chuckle escaped him. "Merry Christmas, little brother," he wished from the door, closing it quickly in case his adversary had other projectiles secreted in the blankets. "Sweet dreams."

Retreating to the living room, he plugged in the tree and curled up on the couch. Just as he made himself comfortable, Alfred's predictable step approached. "Master Dick," a greeting was voiced. "No patrol this evening?"

"I don't think so, Alfred," he shook his head. "I know I _should_, but…I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the lights for a while instead. Gotham can survive tonight without Batman." _And so can I,_ he told himself firmly. "…Care to watch with me for a little bit?"

Behind him, the butler smiled proudly. "That would be marvelous, sir. I'll just make a pot of tea, shall I?"

"Sure. That sounds great." Left alone once more, he gave a soft sigh. _I still miss you, Bruce,_ he swore. _But…I'm okay. Christmas is different without you, and I'll always wish you were still here for it, but I think I can manage. I think…I think things might really start to be okay again. And if I get to feeling like they aren't,_ his eyes sparkled hopefully, _I'll just turn on the lights and think of you._


	17. The Contest

**Author's Note: Here's a little family fluff for you all. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Okay, okay!" Dick exclaimed, wide-eyed as he held two corners of a gingerbread house in place. "Don't move, Dami, we'll have to start all over again!"

"I'm _not_ moving. Jesus, I can't believe you talked me into this." Leaning over the corner of the dining room table with his own cookie edges pinched together, the fifteen-year-old shook his head.

"Gaah, don't _move_!"

"Grayson, I swear to god, if your stupid leg wasn't in a cast..."

"Just...one more second...there," Dick judged as his youngest brother's false threat trailed off. "I think we can let go."

"If it falls down again, I'm done."

"Aw, what? You'd leave the guy with the trimalleolar fracture to build a house by himself?"

"This is the sixth time!" Damian protested. "If we're not going to get to the good part of this soon, then I'm not interested!"

"We're getting to the good part, I swear! Let's...let's let go. I think it will hold."

"It _better_," the teen muttered, pulling his hands back. "...What are you, stuck?" he jabbed a moment later when Dick remained hunched forward.

"I'm nervous. If it explodes like it did last time..."

"Would you just let go of the damn thing?!"

"All right!" A beat passed as he, too, retreated. "...Oh my god. I think we did it. Dami, we made a square!"

"...Okay," the younger male peered at their construction critically, drawn back in now that they'd moved on to a new step. "Time for the roof," he cracked his knuckles absentmindedly.

"Peaked?"

"Flat, and five dollars says it's _still_ going to collapse."

"You have no faith," Dick sighed. "But you're probably right, so..."

"Damian, right about something?" Tim entered from the hallway bouncing an orange from hand to hand.

"Shut up, Drake," came an automatic rebuttal.

"Hey, Timmy. Grab a chair and lend a hand, would you? Building gingerbread houses is harder than you'd think, we could use all the brainpower we can get."

"Brainpower? Count him out, then," Damian jabbed his chin towards the new arrival.

"Cleveeerrr," Tim rolled his eyes. "But that does beg the question of just how long you two have been working on this."

"Uh..." Dick glanced at his watch. "...Just under an hour."

"And you've managed...that much, huh?"

"It's a work in progress," the eldest proclaimed defensively.

"It's a piece of garbage, Dick. Sorry," Tim shrugged.

"Like to see you do better," Damian challenged, straightening and crossing his arms.

"I'm not going to sit here playing with candy. I have other things to do."

"That's what Dami said at first, too," Dick commented nonchalantly. Looking up, he put on his best grin. "C'mon, Timmy. We'll make it a competition. Whoever wins gets gloating rights."

"I really-" His voice cut off as a glob of frosting, flicked from the ends of Damian's fingers with the sort of precision only a member of their family could boast, landed smack between his eyes.

"You scared, Drake?"

For a long second the air hummed with a decisive silence. Then there was a low scrape as Tim pulled out the chair beside his elder brother and dropped into it. "...Pass me the gingerbread," he ground out, wiping his face off.

"Great!" Dick stretched to shove a plate stacked high with toast-colored pastry towards him. "Ow."

"That is _not_ a word I want to be hearing from your mouth right now, young man," a feminine voice rang out in the hall. "I came here to check on you, not to re-suture your incisions."

"You don't have to sew anything, Leslie," the injured man promised as she came into the room, Alfred close on her heels. "I've been good all week."

"Is that true?" she requested of the butler, who had moved to deposit a fresh batch of candy decorations on the table. "Has he been good and stayed in bed?"

"He has been uncharacteristically well-behaved in that regard, Dr. Thompkins," he agreed briskly, "which I attribute almost entirely to the youngest master's inability to crawl as of yet."

"Yeah, toss me in bed with an infant, Bruce's film noir collection, and a bottle of pain pills and I'm pretty good at not getting yelled at," Dick joked. "You'll be happy to hear that this is my first trip downstairs since the surgery."

"So naturally you decided to attempt construction," the physician smiled.

"Well, you know," he winked, "Alfred just _happened_ to have all of the ingredients for gingerbread already out on the counter, so..."

"So you began a partnership that's grown into subcontracting already?" she asked, nodding to where Tim, his concentration seemingly undisturbed by the conversation going on around him, already had a sturdy-looking base set up and was busily assembling a roof.

"No, we're in competition for shares of the local housing market. And we're losing horribly," he frowned. "Tim, how did you do that so _fast_? It took us six tries to make a square, and you're practically done already!"

"There's this amazing new invention called a floor," the younger man replied drily. "The rumors are that it adds stability to the walls and the roof. Don't ask me why, but I thought I'd give it a try." He glanced between his creation and the still-pathetic conglomeration of his brothers. "Looks like it was a good gamble, huh?"

"...Oh, crud, Dami, why didn't we think of using a floor piece?"

The teen, his cheeks coloring slightly, gave a one-word answer. "Shit."

"Master Damian, must I remind you once more about your language?" Alfred said curtly. "You know neither Miss Barbara nor I will be pleased if you bequeath Master John a gutter vocabulary."

"It's not like he can hear me right now," Damian argued.

"No, but if you make it a habit of speaking more civilly at all times you're less likely to pass along anything uncouth in the moments when he _is_ present."

"He's been much better lately, Alfred," Dick rose to his brother's aid. "He caught himself mid-curse yesterday. I was impressed."

"Or you were hallucinating off of the pain meds," Tim tossed in. "It was one of those."

"Shut _up_, Drake," Damian grumbled. "Or I'll knock your house over."

"There's a mature, reasonable response for you."

"You want a mature response? You're a_-_"

"Dami!" Dick cut him off. "Relax, huh? You don't really want Babs walking in halfway through you playing Godzilla to Tim's Tokyo, do you?"

"...No," the boy sulked.

"And Tim, stop baiting him, would you? You already have babysitting privileges; give Damian a chance to earn his. He's been working really hard on it, and you're not helping." To everyone except Dick's surprise Damian had become attached to his nephew during the baby's first days, and he had been lobbying ever since for the chance to watch him for a few hours by himself. Barbara, backed up by Alfred and an already overprotective Bruce, had laid down several strict ground rules, among them a reduction in his foul language and general pugnacity. Dick, for his part, had approached the problem from the other direction, coaching his brother to help him achieve his goal, and his natural tendency to stand up for his frequently-maligned sibling had only been heightened by the experience. "Besides, the pills don't make me hallucinate."

"...Don't let him touch my house, and there's no problem," Tim agreed.

"I'm not going to touch your stupid house," Damian rolled his eyes. "I'll just build a _better_ one."

"That, uh...that might not be feasible with this monstrosity," Dick opined. "Sorry, bro. You want to start over? I won't make you stay partners if you think I'm a bad architect."

"We need a floor," a reply was grumbled. "and a roof." A chunk of frosting fell off of their cobbled-together shanty. "...And a miracle."

Leslie chuckled. "I'll leave you all to play with your food," she smiled.

"You don't want to get in on the competition?" Dick invited her. "We've got plenty of materials. You and Alfred would probably kick all of our butts, and you could work together if you wanted," he tempted. "Plus, if you win you get to gloat, so there's that."

"I think I'll pass in favor of giving that adorable little one of yours a quick check up," she patted his shoulder. "But thank you for the invitation."

"If you're going up in any case, Dr. Thompkins, do you mind company?" the butler inquired. "Miss Barbara requested that I wake her at four, and I'm already five minutes behind."

"Not at all," the upcurve in her lips grew. "See you in a little bit, boys."

All was calm for a spell as Dick and Damian attempted to make their walls not lean inward and Tim dropped his roof into place. Both houses had progressed substantially in their completion by the time Bruce peeked into the room. "This is _not_ what I thought I'd find all of you doing," he commented as he approached.

"Building gingerbread houses?" Tim asked.

"Not fighting," the billionaire informed him. "...And building gingerbread houses. That's a new one."

"I don't know why we never did it before," Dick put in distractedly, busy frosting over a seam to give it extra stability. "It's fun."

"Then why do you sound so miserable?" his surrogate father arched an eyebrow.

"Probably because Drake is kicking our as-" Damian broke off, his face contorting as he wrestled the word back into this mouth. "...Our butts," he finished.

"Good job, Dami," Dick complimented. "But we're still in this!" As he spoke, he nudged the plate on which their creation stood. With an exhausted _whumph_, it collapsed. "...Crapdoodles."

"You have some serious structural issues to work out, there, chum," Bruce smirked, gripping his shoulder. "But I'm glad to see you're out of bed."

"Thanks. Johnny finally managed to take a nap when I wasn't tired enough to join him, and since Babs took a half day today she stayed upstairs with him. That left me free to flunk out of architectural school," he joked. "What do you think, bro, new plan?"

"New builder, maybe," the teen mumbled, tugging the plate and its rubble over to himself. "One with skill might make a big difference."

"There's that positive attitude," Dick teased, ruffling his brother's hair. "You should grab a plate and build one, Bruce. We're having a contest. The winner gets to gloat."

"I have paperwork to do and a baby to hold, but...that's a pretty good prize," he waffled.

"I thought it was. And think of it this way; it's the holidays, so forget the paperwork, and Johnny won't be down until Babs or Alfred bring him down."

The billionaire stared pensively at the plethora of supplies spread across the tabletop. "...Do you need a partner, or am I on my own?" he asked finally.

"Hey!" Damian interjected immediately, his head shooting up. "He's _my_ partner."

"All right," Bruce nodded, not willing to open that particular can of worms. "I'll build my own, then. Is that chair next to you being used, Tim?"

"Nope."

"See you at the finish line," Dick jested. "Hey, Dami, that looks _way_ better than anything we've managed yet!"

"Yeah, well...don't quit your day job to work construction, Grayson."

"Wasn't planning on it. Here, I think we're ready for a roof..."

Quiet overtook them again, with only requests for materials, mumbled planning between the team mates, and the occasional bitten-off curse as something went wrong interrupting the calm. It was only when Barbara walked in with a wiggly bundle in her arms that the conversation picked back up. "It's always frightening when you're all four silent in the same room," she commented.

"The gloat's afoot, and we're all chasing after it," Dick settled back in his chair. "There's my little bit!" he exclaimed as his son's head swiveled, searching out his voice. "C'mere and see daddy for a second. Did you have a good nap with mommy?"

"Aaaaah?"

"Yeah, you're right. Naps with mommy are always fun. You want to help daddy and Uncle Dami build a house out of candy until dinner time?"

"If he's helping, we'd better hope he didn't inherit your pathetic excuse for man skills," Damian commented.

"My 'man skills' are just fine, thank you," Dick responded good-naturedly, bouncing the now-gurgling child on his good leg. "They just don't extend to building houses. Although," he added, "I'm curious as to whether or not mommy might have passed you a stray carpentry gene or two. Think we should find out, Johnny-boy?"

"Eeeee!" the boy giggled as a finger poked him in the tummy.

"That's a yes," the poker informed his wife.

"I think your interpreting skills need work," Bruce called down the table as he rose from his chair and came forward.

"Did I misunderstand you, little bit? Was that a 'jeez, dad, give me to grandpa already so I can be spoiled rotten' squeal?" Another giggle sounded. "I guess it was, after all. Well, I see how I rate," Dick teased as the baby raised his arms towards the approaching man. "But what about your house, Bruce?"

"Gloating is a good prize," the billionaire said as a plump, tiny hand latched onto his chin, "that I will gladly split with Barbara, if she's interested."

"...I haven't decked out a gingerbread house in _years_," she confessed. "I could get into that."

"Well, here's a little sugar to get you started, then," Dick tugged her down for a peck. "Try not to beat us _too_ badly, huh?"

"Oh, honey, please. You don't stand a chance."

The house-building became a game of musical baby once Tim finished decorating and managed to convince Bruce to give the child up for a minute. Damian stewed wordlessly at the cooing and cuddling coming from across the table until Dick stepped in and passed the happy infant to him, at which point the teen's expression took on a remarkably soft edge. "What do you think, Tiny?" he held the latest addition to the family up to see what he'd been working on. "Is it any good?"

"...Baaa."

"Yeah, it is kind of shi-cruddy," he redirected his tongue mid-sentence, sending a look down the line to see if Barbara had overheard him. "You're right. Here," he broke a tiny piece of peppermint patty off, "you want to try this?"

"No sugar!" Babs directed.

"But it's barely anything!"

"It will make him insane. He's already got his father's energy, he doesn't need sugar."

"...It's really not that much," Dick jumped in. "And if he's up late I'll keep him with me so you can patrol."

The woman sent him a long-suffering look, then sighed. "_One_ bite, and that's it," she gave in.

Almost grinning, Damian positioned the treat on his fingertip. "You ready, Tiny?"

"Aaaa?" A finger passed his lips, and he closed his mouth, sucking from habit. Bright blue eyes widened instantly in shock. "Eeee!" he cheered.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," the teen said, pleased. "...Can I have my finger back now? Or...not," he allowed as the suction on his hand grew more insistent. "What, are you hungry or something?"

"He shouldn't be, I fed him right before we came down," Barbara frowned. "Here," she came around to them, "I'll take him." As soon as she did, however, the baby's breath hitched, his face screwing up in preparation for tears. "Okay, maybe not," she conceded, handing him back.

He calmed as soon as Damian's finger was in his mouth again.

"...The weaning, do you think?" Bruce pondered, now hovering behind his youngest son and watching the child in his arms pull contentedly.

"Maybe," she puzzled.

"Nah. He just loves his Uncle Dami, that's all," Dick said firmly.

"Crazy kid," Tim shook his head.

"Babies can tell about a person," the injured man insisted.

"Uhh," Damian's uncertain noise interrupted, "I think he's falling asleep."

"…Aw," Dick grinned a moment later. "He passed right out."

"I had no idea baby-charming was on Robin's list of special talents," Leslie smiled from the doorway. "Did you get it, Alfred?" she asked the man beside her.

"I most certainly did," the butler verified, a slim camera disappearing into his pocket.

"…Did you take a _picture_ just now?" the teen hissed angrily, keeping his voice low.

"Yes, young sir, and nothing in the world could convince me to delete it, so I advise that you get used to its existence."

"I bet it's adorable. Send it to me, Alfred?" Dick asked.

"Of course I shall. Anyone else?" Every hand in the room save Damian's and that of the slumbering child went up. "Very good."

"…You'd better not try and blackmail me with it," Damian directed at Tim.

"I wasn't going to. If I was going to get you for something, it would be that atrocious pile you're calling a gingerbread house."

"It's not _that_ bad," Dick considered it.

"So long as you don't compare it to the other two," Bruce tacked on.

"Why don't we leave the judging up to impartial parties?" Leslie headed off before the contest could erupt into an argument. "I don't mind, and I'm sure Alfred doesn't, either." Her proposal was met by a round of shrugs and general agreement, and the pair began a circuit of the table.

"Master Dick, Master Damian," the butler searched for something to say as he considered the slightly askew and sparsely decorated first entrant. "Your house is…well, I'm very pleased by your dedication to the project," he managed.

"We went with a Spartan look instead of covering every square inch with candy," Dick bit back an embarrassed smirk. "We decided we didn't want our house to be ostentatious."

"Also, it would have collapsed if they'd tried to touch it again," Tim jabbed playfully.

"What's so great about _your_ house?" Damian pressed, glaring.

"It merits actual praise," Bruce said wryly.

"Tim, yours _did_ come out very nice," Leslie commented.

"It seems quite sturdy," the butler added. "But take a look further down, Dr. Thompkins, and I think you'll see our winner."

"…Which one of you built this, Bruce, Barbara?" she asked as they drew up to the final house. "It's beautiful."

"It was a team effort. Bruce did the foundation, I added the foo-foo stuff," Babs explained.

"…Are those _pillars_?" Dick gaped, leaning forward to see better.

"Made out of candy canes," Tim marveled.

"Are they really holding up this…what is that, a porch roof?"

"They are," the billionaire nodded.

"I'm sorry, boys, but this one takes the cake," Leslie announced. "Or the cookie, if you prefer."

"…Yeah, I can't compete with that," Tim conceded.

"And we're not even in the same contest," Dick shook his head. "How did you _do_ that?" he craned his neck to direct his question at the woman standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders.

Barbara looked down at him as if he should have already known the answer. "I made a baby," she reminded him. "After that, a gingerbread house was _nothing_. I told you you didn't stand a chance, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I thought you were posturing at least a _little_."

"Nope. Sorry."

"Well, I'm not complaining. I think your decorating skills are sexy."

"Oh, really?"

"Could you _not_ flirt so disgustingly right before dinner?" Damian butted in.

"Hey, little brother, flirting is how you got a nephew, so…just sayin'," Dick pointed out.

"On the topic of dinner," Alfred interjected before the teen could begin making gagging noises, "Dr. Thompkins was kind enough to help me finish it up while you all worked on your houses, and as such it's keeping warm in the kitchen as we speak. If everyone wouldn't mind carrying a few things across the hall, we'll have the table cleared and be eating shortly. Not you though, Master Dick," he added, "nor you, Master Damian. You have your hands full with healing and baby-handling respectively, which are both far more important tasks."

The room emptied swiftly, and when he was sure they were alone Damian turned to his brother. "...Dick?" he ventured quietly.

"Ooh, using my first name? Now I know it's important. What's up, little D?"

"Um…that picture that Alfred took. Could…could you send it to me when you get it?"

Dick glanced down at his son, still sleeping blissfully in the teen's arms, and smiled broadly. "You bet I will, Dami. You bet I will."


	18. Present!

**Author's Note: It's another Bruce and young Dick Christmas Eve romp! My apologies that it's a bit later in the day than usual, but to make up for it it's also the longest chapter yet in the series. Happy reading!**

* * *

"But Bruce-"

"Dicky, I said no," the billionaire said firmly. "No patrol tonight. It's Christmas Eve, and that means that you need to go to bed so that all the presents can be delivered."

"I don't even _believe_ in Santa, though!"

"Do you believe in Alfred?"

"...Well yeah, he's a real, actual person. I see him every day," the ten-year-old answered, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what the question had to do with his going out with Batman. "Of course I believe in Alfred."

"Then I'll tell you a secret. Santa might not be real, but Alfred is, and it's Alfred who puts all of the presents out under the tree on Christmas Eve. The catch is," he crouched down to the boy's height, "he doesn't deliver unless people who aren't old enough to drive are asleep. So if you want your presents, you need to go to bed."

"He could put them out after I get back from patrolling with you," Dick said promptly.

"If he waited until you got home and to bed, he wouldn't be able to put things out until very late. That would mean that he wouldn't get any sleep, and he'd be tired all day tomorrow. You don't want Alfred to have a bad day just because you didn't want to go to bed, do you?"

"...No," the child scuffed his foot on the concrete. "Half a patrol?" he suggested hopefully.

"_No_. Go upstairs," he turned him around gently, "and go to sleep. I'll check on you when I get back."

"Don't do anything too fun without me? Please?"

"You know I'll try not to. Now _go_."

"Okaaay..." _But a half a patrol would only be, like, three hours!_ he ached to protest. _It would barely be midnight when I got back, and I'd go right to sleep, I promise!_ He knew when he was approaching the end of his guardian's patience, however, and kept his mouth shut as he trudged towards the stairs. _I guess it isn't __so__ bad if I miss tonight, since it means that Alfred can set up the presents, _he'd decided by the time he reached the back side of the image of the butler dressed as Santa Claus flashed behind his eyes, drawing a little giggle. _I wish he'd just put them out __while__ I was on patrol, though. That would be way better, and I usually fall asleep in the car on the way back anyway, so it would almost be the same as my going to bed._

There was nothing he could do about it now, though, and as such he simply took himself to bed, performing his evening ritual without prompting before climbing between the covers. Elinor the elephant went beneath one arm, his eyelids shut with visions of Alfred directing a workshop full of elves dancing behind them, and he was falling into dreamland so quickly that his brain barely had time to adjust.

It was several hours later when he awoke with a gasp, his pillow wet with a mixture of sweat and tears, the sheets tangled around his legs from a spate of panicked kicking. He remembered nothing of the dream that had disturbed him besides a pervasive sense of blindness and something unseen coming for him, and as such recovery was impossible during his first seconds of wakefulness. _So dark,_ he moaned silently, staring about the room in panic._ So dark. Where's the light? Why is there no light? Where...oh,_ he frowned as his forebrain caught up with the eons of evolution that had spurred his primal fear. _My nightlight...it's not on. Maybe,_ he gulped, _maybe the power went out?_

He lay still for a long moment, not quite willing to put his feet down on the floor. _If I can just get to the light_ _switch_..._if I can just get there, I can find out what's going on. I've __got__ to get there; Robin can't be afraid of the dark. Just...Robin can't be afraid. Gotta get to the light switch, then I'll know if the power's out... _Tiptoeing rapidly and convincing himself that to fall back would be cowardly and unworthy of Batman's partner, he hustled from the bed to the door._ Please, please, __please__ work, _he begged, and threw the switch.

"Yay!" he cheered unsteadily as the fixture overhead came to life. As he started back towards his badly mussed blankets, though, he paused. _My pillow's all wet,_ he recalled, _and it's too bright to sleep like this. Plus, I don't...I don't really want to be alone. What if the dream comes back, or...or the power really __does_ _go out? Maybe... _His gaze was drawn over his shoulder to the portal he'd just walked away from. _Maybe Bruce is back from patrol. No one's better than Batman at scaring away bad things that come in the dark..._

Decision made, Dick peeked into the dimly-lit hallway with caution. _I don't want Alfred to know I'm awake,_ he chewed at his lip. _He'd understand about my nightmare, but I don't want him to stop putting out presents just because I'm up. I'll just sneak across..._ With Elinor still tightly in his grasp, he slipped to the room opposite his own and slithered inside. "...Bruce?" he whispered. _Dark. Dark, dark, it's too __dark_... A thin whimper escaping him, he flipped on the main light, fully prepared to apologize for the action that he was certain would give his guardian a rude awakening. "...Bruce?"

There was no answer, and the child's shoulders slumped. _His bed's all made up still, _he noted. _He's not home._ Waiting under the billionaire's blankets was, he knew, something that he wouldn't be yelled at for, but the primary problem still confronted him. _It's either too bright or too dark,_ he shifted unhappily. _Bruce could scare away the dark, but he's still out, and he doesn't even have a nightlight in here. I could stay up, but..._ A yawn stretched his face. _ But I'm still really tired...I just want to go back to sleep until it's Christmas..._

On the verge of fresh tears as post-panic exhaustion weighed down on him, Dick turned back to the hall. _I guess I'm going to have to find Alfred and let him see that I'm awake. I don't know where he keeps the extra bulbs, and I can't sleep with the lights all the way on or off. _Giving in, he made his way down to the foyer. _...Crud. He might be in the cave, _he glanced down the hallway to his right, _or still putting out presents_, his gaze shifted to the left. _It's way darker as you go towards the clock_, he let the light levels make the decision for him. _I'll check the living room first._

The Christmas tree was on when he entered the gilded chamber it graced, its multicolored lights reflecting dully off of the antiques and metal work that had so frightened him in his earliest weeks at the Manor. Tonight, though, he was glad for the wealth of decorative elements, as their mirror-like surfaces cast the space in a gentle glow that immediately soothed him. _This is nice,_ he sighed, tension draining from his muscles. _And he's already put a bunch of presents out, too._ Settling on the edge of the sofa, he blinked at the stacks of packages that surrounded the tall conifer they'd decorated three weeks before. _It's almost like it's already Christmas morning. If he's done bringing things out, though, then I should go find him so I can go back to bed. Except..._

Except the hallway he would have to traverse to reach the cave was so very black in his memory, and this room was so pleasantly lit. _Well...he has to shut the tree off before he goes to bed, right? So if I stay here, he'll see me when he does that, and he can get me the new bulb then. Alfred isn't __quite__ as good at scaring away bad things as Batman is,_ he allowed, scooting until his legs dangled and his head rested against the back of the couch, _but he's way better than having no one to do it. I'll just wait for him. At least the view is pretty..._

Two minutes later, bathed in the soft light of the tree, he'd pillowed his head on his patient stuffed animal companion and dropped into slumber.

* * *

Batman was wrapping up a minor drug bust when the radio receiver tucked into his ear buzzed to life. "Batcave to Batman," Alfred's voice summoned, a trace of fear audible in his search.

"Batman here," he rumbled without breaking his stride.

"Sir, you need to come home immediately."

"What's the problem?" As he spoke he dashed two low-level dope pushers into one another and dropped them unceremoniously into a groaning heap.

"It's Master...it's the boy, sir."

"What about him?"

"He's...well, he seems to have vanished. I can't find him anywhere."

Cold fluid flooded the cowled figure's veins at those words. "...Check the racks. Is his costume there?" _You wanted to come on patrol, chum, and I wouldn't put it past you to sneak out after me. I watched you go back up to the house, though, so how...?_

"I've looked already, and it's where it ought to be. If he's out and about, he's in regular clothing."

_...Hmm. You wouldn't have followed me as a civilian, you know better than that. _"And you've looked everywhere inside?"

"Yes, sir, upstairs and down. The light in his room was on, his favored toy is missing, and he's nowhere to be found."

_Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...I'm missing someone,_ the vigilante counted. There was a vague rustle behind him, and he wheeled to find a gun leveled at his face. Ducking sharply just before it went off, he reached up and snapped the man's wrist before delivering a knockout blow. "...I'll tie things up here," he produced a bundle of thin plastic restraints from his belt, "and come right home."

"Very good, sir. If I may...are you all right? That shot sounded rather close."

"I'm fine." _So long as I don't want to hear out of that ear for a few hours,_ he added hyperbolically. _But you don't need to know that, and the guys laying around here half-conscious don't need to, either. _"Batman out."

In his haste to get out of the city and back to the house he tightened the makeshift cuffs a bit more than was strictly necessary, resulting in several groaned complaints from those who were awake and bold enough to risk a swift kick from a combat boot. As soon as he had regained the car and set it to head for the cave as fast as possible, he radioed back in. "Batman to base."

"Here, sir."

"He's not in the cave anywhere?"

"I've looked in every nook and cranny. Besides that, I've been down here since I finished putting the last items under the tree, and that was some time ago; I suppose he may have slipped past me, but I rather doubt it."

"And he's not in my room, you're certain?"

"I checked it thoroughly, although I did note that your light was on as if he'd gone in for something and then left."

"Damn it." _He went in for __me__, _he mused. _If I had just stayed home tonight, like any decent person with children who could __would__ on Christmas Eve, this wouldn't have happened. He'd be perfectly safe. This drug ring needed broken up, yes, but...at what price?_ _No,_ he backhanded himself mentally. _Stop assuming he's not safe. It's late, it's a stressful time of year...Alfred may have missed something. _"He has to be there somewhere," he insisted. "He was arguing with me about going on patrol tonight right before I Ieft, but he wouldn't leave the cave without his costume. Our discussion didn't end on a bad note, so I don't think he'd do something foolish like run away, especially the night before Christmas."

"...I've searched everywhere I can think of, sir, but you make a good point," the butler conceded. "And to be fair, he was fast asleep when I checked on him upon finishing the tree, so he hasn't been unattended for more than a couple of hours. I'll take the radio and check again."

"I'm on my way back right now."

"I will contact you immediately if I find anything."

"Thanks. Batman out." _Where did you go, kiddo?_ he pled silently, the calm facade he had worn on the air cracking at the idea that Alfred, who knew the house better than anyone living, couldn't turn the boy up in it. Taking control of the car back from the autopilot, he pushed his speed up to borderline dangerous levels. _It's not Christmas Eve without you..._

* * *

"Alfred!" Bruce bellowed, ripping his cowl off the instant his boots touched the cave floor.

"Right here, sir," the Englishman appeared around the corner. "I've found nothing again, and frankly...well, I'm beginning to wonder if we ought to call the police."

"...Kidnapping?" the billionaire said weakly, the thought that had plagued him halfway home slipping from his lips.

"I hate to jump to that conclusion, but since neither his Robin costume nor any of his winter gear is gone and I can't locate him in the house I'm afraid that's the most logical assumption remaining open to us," Alfred agreed grimly.

"What kind of cold bastard takes a kid out of their home on Christmas Eve?" Bruce moaned. _And why __my__ kid? Not that I would wish this feeling on many people, _he confessed as his bile rose, _but couldn't it have been someone else, just this once?_

"I wish we knew, sir. Then we might have half a clue as to where to start."

Bruce took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I want to do a sweep of the house myself before we call anyone," he ruled. "No offense."

"None taken. Two sets of eyes are better than one. I sincerely hope that you find him where I could not."

"Me, too." _Be here, Dicky. You've got to be here somewhere. If you've been kidnapped tonight – if I could have prevented it just by letting you come with me – I'll never forgive myself._ "Let me change, and we'll start down here."

"Right."

They scoured every narrow storage aisle and shined lights into each corner and crevice in the rock walls, but to no avail. "Well, it's like you said," the billionaire fretted finally. "I want to see his room. If he was...taken...then they must have come in through his window. I don't see how they could have gotten through the doors."

"I don't see how they could have gotten through the security system at all, not unless he _let_ them in for some reason," the butler pointed out.

"Agreed, but...he didn't just vanish into a puff of smoke."

"No, sir. You are correct about that. Let us carry on, I suppose."

A minute later Bruce stood in the middle of his son's bedroom, turning around in a slow circle. _The covers are crumpled up like he was fighting,_ he grimaced. _Unless they knocked him out, he would have resisted, but he'd be a little slower than usual if he'd just woken up. Elinor's missing, too, just like Alfred told me she was... _"You said the light was on in here, too?"

"Yes, Master Wayne."

"Turn it off. If he was kidnapped, I want to know what the room would have looked like at the time." The space was plunged into blackness. "...Huh."

"Where on earth is his nightlight?" Alfred's voice queried from the doorway.

"That was my thought. Turn the light back on." Blinking rapidly in the restored brightness, he stepped to the small plastic Superman on the wall. "...The bulb's intact," he reported. "It wasn't knocked out, it just burned out, it looks like." _Should have gotten you a Batman light too, even though you asked for Superman,_ he sneered to himself. _I bet __that__ one wouldn't have failed you in the middle of the night. _"So it was dark..." He moved to the window. "...Alfred, if he was kidnapped then it was a world-class magician who took him. This is still locked."

"I noted that earlier, sir, but to be fair he knows the code to the front door. Once he was got hold of, he might have been made to give it to them. They could have locked it again after entering."

"Have you checked the logs?"

"No. I was too busy checking the entire house for him."

"You go do that, I'll look up here and then move downstairs." _C'mon, Dicky, pop up. You've got to be here. Please..._

As soon as they reached the hall Alfred headed for the narrow control room from which all of the Manor's defenses could be monitored. Bruce simply walked in a straight line, closing his eyes as he entered his own chamber and hoping desperately that when he opened them the boy would prove to have been curled up in the huge master bed all along. His wish went ungranted, however, and his posture wilted when he found both the room and its attached bath deserted. _Chum…where __are__ you?_

His pace was nearly a jog by the time he reached the foyer. _A quick sweep down here – I'll send Alfred to do the back corridors if he doesn't find any sign of the electronic defenses being breached tonight – and if we still can't find him I think we're going to have to call someone. If he's outside somewhere in just his pajamas, he'll freeze to death, and if he __has__ been kidnapped…_ He shuddered. _If he's been kidnapped, then time is of the essence._ It was with a tight, determined expression that he dove into the kitchen, dining room, and den, searching everywhere from under the table to inside the oven on the off chance that Dick had hidden himself somewhere an adult would never dream of looking. _Please, baby,_ his desperation grew with each unfruitful glance. _Please, please be here, and safe…_

He crossed into the living room and paused on the threshold, momentarily stunned by the atmosphere of the room. _It's so peaceful in here, with the tree lit and all of the presents. I wish you could see it, kiddo, you'd love it. If I could just __find__ you… _Suddenly drained of energy after the full day and night he'd divided between paperwork, chasing Dick around the house, and a lonesome patrol, he eyed the couch. _I need to sit down for a minute and think this through, _he realized._ I don't want to miss anything crucial because I'm acting like a victim._ Blowing out a long breath, he walked around the end of the sofa and dropped onto the edge of the first cushion. _I __have__ to find you, kiddo…_

As if he'd made a wish on a magic lamp, a familiar yawn sounded behind him. Eyes wide, the billionaire whipped around to find Dick smiling sleepily up at him. "Hi, Bruce," the child greeted fuzzily. "Did you have a long patrol? You look tired."

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he was on the boy, scooping him up and squeezing so tightly that he had to consciously remind himself not to crush the slight frame. "You have no idea, chum," he whispered tearily as arms closed around his neck. "Jesus…_Alfred_!" he called, certain that his shouting would be excused given the situation.

"…Bruce, what's wrong?" Dick wriggled, trying to see his guardian's face. "Why are you crying? And shouting?"

"We didn't know where you were, Dicky," he explained, his voice straining. "Alfred checked on you after he finished bringing the presents out, but then when he went back a little later you'd…you'd vanished. He searched everywhere, but when he couldn't find you we thought maybe you'd wandered outside for some reason, or…or been kidnapped." The man sniffed, trying to bring himself under control now that his son was safely in his arms. "Have you been down here the entire time?" _And if so, how did Alfred miss seeing you?_

"Uh-huh," a rapid nod rubbed against the side of his neck. "I-"

"Have you found somethi-oh, thank god," the butler's harried voice entered the room. "Young sir, where on _earth_ have you been? He's not injured, is he, Master Wayne?"

"I'm fine, Alfred," Dick managed to pull back enough to look at the figure hovering behind the couch, worry lines standing out in the tree light. "I was right here. Bruce told me you were looking for me, but I didn't know," he swore. "I wasn't trying to hide, I was just sleeping."

"Didn't you hear me calling out for you, dear boy?" the Englishman stretched one mildly trembling hand out to cup the side of his younger charge's head.

"Huh-uh. I didn't hear anything." He paused. "I don't even think I had any dreams, and that's just crazy."

"Dreams…" Bruce mused. _Your covers looked like you'd been fighting, but that doesn't mean you were fighting a physical adversary,_ he reasoned. _And if your nightlight was out when you woke up from a bad dream, just going back to sleep probably wouldn't have felt like a viable option. You went looking for me, but I wasn't home yet, and then…what, Alfred? Yeah, I could see that, he would be the one to ask for a replacement bulb. _ "You had a nightmare, didn't you?" he inquired slowly.

"Yes," Dick bowed his head. "I had a bad dream about the dark. And I know I shouldn't have been afraid of it, because I'm in the dark all the time, but…it was really scary. Then I woke up and my nightlight wasn't working, but it was too bright in my room with the regular light on, so I tried going into your room but you weren't there to scare the dark away and you don't even _have_ a nightlight. So I tried to find Alfred, but the way to the clock was darker than the way here, and I thought maybe he was still putting out presents so I came this way first. Then when I got here…well…I was really tired," his lip vanished between his teeth nervously, "so I laid down on the couch. I thought Alfred would have to come in to turn the tree off before he went to bed, and that he'd find me then. I didn't think I would scare you, Bruce," he begged. "I wasn't trying to do that, honest and really."

"I know," the billionaire pulled him back in. "I know, kiddo. It's okay. You're safe, and that's all that matters." _You're safe,_ he reiterated to himself. _You're safe, and here with me, and you're just…just fine._ "It's okay."

"…I don't know how I missed seeing you here, young sir," the butler stated, moving to a chair and slumping into it with relief writ large across his face. "I must have looked into this room a half dozen times during my search."

"He was curled up pretty small on the couch," Bruce allowed. "Hell, I almost sat on him."

"He did," Dick giggled.

"I never imagined you would fall asleep in here. You usually avoid this room," Alfred went on. "What was it that enticed you to come in here tonight?"

"The tree," the boy shrugged. "It was really pretty with all the presents out, and the lights made it just right for me to not be scared of the dark but still be able to sleep. But I wasn't trying to hide, I just…I just didn't want to be in the dark by myself right then."

"Well," Bruce announced, "I think I may have a way to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again." _Please, god, I don't ever want to be scared like this again. It's too much, thinking he might have been taken by who knows what kind of scum…_

"What's that?" Dick asked.

"We're putting an intercom extension in your room. Not tomorrow – sorry, today – obviously, since no one will be working on Christmas, but first thing tomorrow I want someone out here to install it. Then you can just call for Alfred instead of being afraid of going where you need to in order to find him."

"I should have just used the intercom in _your_ room, Bruce," the child realized with a frown. "I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"Well, we sometimes overlook things when we get scared, chum," Bruce soothed. "Not just you, everyone. We all do it." _I did it tonight,_ he grimaced internally. _Kidnapping was a heck of a conclusion to jump to right off the bat, and then rushing around the way I did...I could have been much more efficient._ He sighed. _I think I understand now how people whose children go missing make such foolish decisions in their attempts to get them back. You just…lose your head. It's bad; I've got to work on that._

"I'll call the contractor first thing in the morning, sir," the butler nodded. "And in the meantime, Master Dick, I'll fetch a new bulb for your nightlight so that we can get you back to bed." He made to stand, but was stopped by the billionaire's next words.

"Actually…how tired are you, kiddo?"

"Not very. I mean, I probably will be eventually, but right now I'm just glad you're home and not mad at me."

"No, I'm not mad at you," Bruce told him softly. "But _if_ Alfred is up for it…what do you say we get this Christmas Day started early?"

The child's face lit up. "_Really_?!" he squealed.

"It's up to Alfred." _I don't want to take my eyes off of you right now, chum, and that includes closing them to go to sleep. We'll just take a really long nap later._

"Alfred? Can we?!" Dick leaped from the couch and skipped to the older man with an eager grin. "Please?"

The Englishman gave him a wan but warm smile. "I'll put the kettle on, sirs, and be back shortly. Would you like a hot chocolate, Master Dick?"

"Yes, please!" was chirped. "Yay, early Christmas!"

"You can't open anything until Alfred gets back," the billionaire directed as the butler departed and the youth scampered for the tree.

"I know," he came back bearing a box in both hands. "But I want to be ready. Here," he presented the gift to his guardian, "I want you to get the first present this year."

Bruce took the package and immediately set it aside in favor of snagging his son's wrist before he could fly away again. "Hey," he breathed, tugged him near and into another hug. "Thanks, but…I already did."


	19. When Santa's Away

**Author's Note: Here is the beginning of one final two-parter for you all. For those of you who are wondering what's in the works for between now and Christmas, we've got a solstice bonfire, a big announcement, and cookie baking. The actual Christmas Eve and Christmas Day posts will be special, so I don't want to give them away just yet. **

**On a separate note, I apologize profusely to all of you waiting so patiently for a new chapter of Turkey Song. I haven't been as good as I thought I could be about getting you a new chapter while this story has been ongoing, but I swear I will make up for it. Fortunately I have almost a full week off between Christmas and New Year, and I will be dedicating a great deal of that time to Turkey Song. Hopefully you'll find the wait to have been worth it.**

**As always, thanks to those of you who have come along with me so far, and double that to those who have reviewed. Happy reading!**

* * *

Bruce stood before the kitchen window with his arms crossed, a pensive frown dragging down the corners of his mouth. He didn't look around as footsteps sounded behind him, well aware of who they belonged to simply from the cadence in which they fell. The fridge was opened and shut with a double _whoosh_, a plastic lid tap-danced across the counter, and a moment later Dick appeared beside him.

"Morning," the younger man greeted.

"Morning." The billionaire's gaze didn't budge.

"What are you looking..." Dick trailed off as he caught sight of the thing that had now held the billionaire's interest for several minutes. "Whoa. That's...unexpected."

"To say the least."

"Should we do something about it, do you think?" As soon as he'd asked the question, he lifted a white jug to his lips and took a long swig. "I mean, it's not ours."

"...No, it isn't ours."

"Sooo...what's the hold up?"

Wordlessly, Bruce extended his hand. The chilled container met his palm, and he let a wash of orange juice run over his tongue. "I kind of like just watching at it," he confessed once he'd swallowed.

"Ah. Okay."

They stood side-by-side before the glass for a while, neither speaking as they passed their beverage back and forth. The creature on the back lawn didn't seem to mind being observed, simply continuing its slow grazing as if it were the only living thing left in the world. Soon its second observer was as entranced as its first, and as a result neither man responded when a new step entered the room.

"Uh..." Tim stopped a few feet behind them, "this isn't the beginning of another round of pod people problems, is it?"

"Huh-uh."

"No."

"Oookay," the youngest of the trio narrowed his eyes in consternation. "Then I guess I'll be the polite one and say good morning first."

"Mm," Bruce grunted.

"Mornin', Timmy," Dick gave a more cohesive response. "You want to see something really weird?"

"I think I already _am_ seeing something really weird, but I'll bite," he replied, stepping up suspiciously into the small open space beside his brother. "What the hell are you two...whoa," he cut off. "Why is there a reindeer outside?"

"We don't know."

"Not sure."

"...Huh," Tim puffed, intrigued. The white jug appeared at the corner of his vision, and he reached out to take it. "Mmm. Good orange juice," he approved shortly thereafter. "So...this reindeer. Are we doing something about it, or...?"

"...It's kind of nice just watching it, don't you think?" Dick shrugged, echoing Bruce's sentiments on the matter.

"It probably belongs to someone, though," the youngest pointed out. "It's not like caribou are native to Gotham. Besides, it's wearing a harness. If it's lost, people must be looking for it."

"Yeah," the man beside him sighed, shaking himself. "You're right. Bruce?"

"Mm?"

"We should probably...you know...do something about it. Besides watching it eat Alfred's lawn, I mean."

"Mm..." the billionaire hummed in displeasure, well able to imagine what the butler's expression would be like were he to return from his well-earned vacation only to learn that they'd allowed a runaway reindeer to destroy the landscaping. "Fine. What do you propose?"

"...Don't look at me, I was just saying we need to do _something_!" Tim exclaimed as two sets of eyes turned to him.

"But _what_?" Dick pressed. "We may have a ridiculously wide assortment of skills between us, but the last time I checked shepherding wasn't one of them. I'm not even sure how you're supposed to herd one of those things."

"I...well, who says _we_ have to do anything directly? There must be someone we can call, right? Animal control or something?"

Bruce tore his eyes from the idyllic scene outside just long enough to glance over. "Go ahead and call them. You're right; if we can find out who the owner is, we should try and get it back to them."

Tim left the room to contact the authorities, leaving the other two to keep watching as the reindeer took a few steps, paused to nibble at a clump of grass that rose above the thin layer of new-fallen snow, and then blew twin streams of steam from its nose. Pale antlers shining in the weak December sunlight, it threw its head back and pranced several yards, knees kicking high before it halted in front of another promising bit of greenery.

"So much for that hedge," Dick commented neutrally as the beast began to chow down.

"Maybe Alfred will like the new shape," Bruce smirked. "He always complains about that one not wanting to cooperate."

"Heh. We'll tell him it's an _organic_ solution to overgrowth."

"Let me know when you plan on informing him of that fact so I can be sure I'm very far away and out of cell range. Off-planet, maybe. I don't want to be in the blast zone when his head explodes."

"Oh, please. Like you'd let me take that kind of risk on my own."

"...Point taken." A beat passed. "He's a good-looking animal."

"What's weird is that it _is_ a 'he,'" Dick frowned. "I'm pretty sure male caribou have mostly dropped their antlers by this point in the year, but," he went on as the creature turned sideways again, presenting its silhouette, "that is _definitely_ a male, and unless someone tied those pointy bits on his head he's still dressed for battle."

"Hmm...that _is_ strange." A narrow line creased Bruce's forehead as the mystery deepened. "Is it possi-"

"You won't believe this," Tim interrupted as he came back from the hallway. "Animal control has no reports of anyone missing a reindeer. On top of that, they say they won't come pick it up because they don't have the right equipment or anywhere to keep it until it's claimed!"

"Well, I guess that means we have to keep it," Dick joked. "What should we call him? I vote for Bob."

Diverted from his previous comment by Tim's announcement, the billionaire snorted. "Bob the reindeer?"

"Well we can't call him Rudolph, Wally would think we named it after him! You know he _hates_ his middle name."

"Wait," Tim stopped him, "is that seriously his middle name? _Rudolph_?"

"Yup. It's on his birth certificate and everything, the poor guy. Named after a reindeer."

"It doesn't matter what we call him, because we can't keep him," Bruce broke back in. "Even if Alfred didn't flay me alive, I can already imagine the articles that would come out after everyone at the Foundation's summer luncheon fundraiser spent the afternoon stepping around little piles of reindeer shit."

"Who says he'd stay on the lawn all the time?" Dick countered. "We're sitting in the middle of three _thousand_ acres of virtually untouched forest; why would he hang around the house?"

"There's a question we haven't considered yet," the youngest spoke up again. "Not only are we in the middle of three thousand acres, that land is all surrounded by a twenty-foot-high fence. So how did this thing get inside in the first place?"

The kitchen fell silent save the hum of the fridge as the compressor kicked on. "...The gates?" Dick suggested eventually.

"Are fifteen feet high," Bruce answered. "There must be a section down, which means we need to get someone out here to fix it immediately." Finally stirring himself from the spot he'd been standing in since he'd spotted the caribou, he strode towards the corridor. "I'll check the perimeter monitors," he called over his shoulder.

The two left behind were quiet as the reindeer outside scuffed the snow with one hoof, then bedded down comfortably. "...Hey, Timmy, is there any of that orange juice left?"

"No. I threw the container away." He paused. "You know we really have to stop doing that, right? Just drinking straight from the jug? Alfred comes back in a few days, and we're already going to be dead meat for the other habits we've fallen out of lately."

"You mean like eating at the table, using utensils, and not talking with our mouths full?" Dick grinned.

"Yeah. Those and the other eighty pet peeves of his we've been indulging in."

"Meh. We'll stop when he comes back. Besides, you know his looks don't actually kill you; they just make you _want_ to die." A beat passed. "I wonder if he would actually object to our keeping this guy, assuming we can't find any owners."

"A pooping and eating machine that doesn't have the future potential of a human baby and that you'd never let be slaughtered for meat because you already want to name it? Yeah, I'm sure he'll be delighted," Tim rolled his eyes.

"There aren't any sections down," Bruce reappeared, his frown the deepest either of the other two had yet seen it that morning. "And not even Olympic-class caribou can clear fifteen-foot heights in a single bound."

Dick chuckled at that. "Sorry," he apologized. "I was picturing a reindeer wearing Uncle Clark's cape and jingle bells. Did you find out anything else?"

"No. But I want to. I want to know where that thing came from, and how the hell it got in here," the billionaire jabbed his finger at the glass. "Something weird's going on here."

"This is going to sound impossible, but...could there have been a small herd of, like, escapees from a local farm that were living in the woods before the fences went up?" Tim put forward. "There's a lot of space on the inside of the fence; it's probably enough that a few of them could have survived and bred over the last thirty years without ever being seen."

"It's possible, Timmy, but even if there _were _random reindeer hiding out in the woods all this time, who put the harness on this one? Forest elves?" Dick teased.

"...Point conceded. Damn."

"I think there's only one way we're going to learn anything more," Bruce's eyebrows knit together.

"Uh oh. That's the 'I'm forming a most likely dangerous and most definitely awesome plan' look," the middle male said excitedly. "Lay it on us. What's the mission?"

"I think we have to get close enough to see if it has any tags or other ID on that harness."

"You want to lasso a reindeer?" Tim verified incredulously.

"Yes. Or tranquilize it, or something. I want to know how it got in here, and I'm going to find out even if I have to _ride_ the thing."

"You're insane," the youngest opined, gaping. "Why don't we just call the state wildlife police and let _them_ take care of it? They must be equipped for this sort of thing."

"Because where's the fun in _that_?" his brother grinned. "So long as we don't hurt it, I'm in, Bruce."

"Good," the billionaire clapped him on the shoulder. "I knew you would be. Tim? No pressure," he assured. "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

"Yeah, we'll still love you. We'll love you _and_ we'll take your share of the fun," Dick ribbed.

"This is crazy, and quite possibly illegal," Tim sighed, resigned, "but...if one of us is going to risk getting kicked in the head, we might as well all be in the running. I'll help."

"...All right," Bruce nodded firmly. "Then let's quit wasting time and get started adding that new skill to our résumés."


	20. The Reindeer Will Play

**Author's Note: Here you are, lovely readers; part two of our reindeer romp with Bruce, Dick, and Tim. I will be posting some interesting reindeer facts on my blog (accessible via my profile page) shortly after this posts, so feel free to swing by there and learn some real-life facts about Santa's trusty companions. Happy reading!**

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"...I don't think I care about having reindeer herding as a skill any more, Bruce," Dick called out as his rope fell short of its mark again.

"I'm with Dick," Tim agreed. "How do we keep missing him? It's not like we have no practice...you know...roping things."

"_I_ haven't been missing," Bruce answered.

"But you haven't caught him yet, either," Dick pointed out. "Our tosses aren't getting to him at all, and yours are just sliding off. It doesn't make any sense."

"There!" the billionaire exclaimed as his line fell neatly around the caribou's tall antlers. "_Now_ I've got him."

"Pull him in!" Tim cheered.

Bruce, wearing a look of grim satisfaction at his success, made to draw the still complacently-chewing creature in. The lasso tightened obediently, but instead of gripping the bony growths it had encircled it slipped upwards, defying gravity to fall away without having inconvenienced its quarry in the slightest.

"_Seriously_?" Dick gaped. "Did someone coat this thing in cooking spray as a joke, or what?"

"Well, so much for leading it anywhere," Tim threw his rope aside in disgust.

"…The lines haven't been tampered with," the billionaire reported, examining his retrieved loop carefully. "You're right, Dick; this makes no sense whatsoever."

"So what's next?" the youngest sighed. "Nets?"

"Tranquilizers," Bruce countered.

"Hold on," Dick intervened thoughtfully. "Stay where you are for a second, would you guys? I'm going to try something." With that he began to approach the bedded-down reindeer, walking at a slow, even pace and speaking to it in a low voice. "Hey, buddy, don't freak out…I'm just going to come up and take a look at your harness, see if I can get to know you a little better…"

"Have you lost your mind?!" Tim queried, panic ghosting across his features. "You're going to get kicked, or trampled, or…or something!"

"…This may not be a good idea, chum," Bruce seconded more sedately, watching the caribou and tensing in case it began to rise.

"Would you two give me a little credit here, please? Someone had to put the harness on, so he must be used to people to some extent. Besides, I may not have herding experience, but I _have_ worked with large animals before," Dick reminded them.

"Yeah, when you were _eight_!" Tim rebutted, turning a fearful gaze towards the oldest member of the trio. "Bruce, stop him, he'll listen to you!"

"No, he won't," the billionaire negated regretfully. "Not now that there's an animal _and_ a mystery involved."

"He's right, Timmy," the man growing ever nearer to the beast they'd been attempting to get hold of for almost thirty minutes said. "Besides, this guy looks nice. Yeah," he crooned. "You're a niiiice reindeer, aren't you? It's simple. You've just got to eeeeease up, slow and gentle," his hand began to rise, "and keep talking so they know you're not trying to sneak up on them. Then when you get there," he stopped when a foot of distance remained between him and the animal's hide, "you give him a minute to get used to you before you try to touch him."

The caribou watched him warily from the corner of its eye, one ear flicking when he halted. It gave a snort, but didn't move other than to carry on chewing its cud, and Dick slowly lowered his palm to its neck. "Hey, friend," he murmured. "You been enjoying all the grass we've got on the lawn? I'll bet it's a lot tastier than whatever they feed you where you're from. Too bad we don't live at a higher elevation, you might have even gotten some lichen, huh?"

"This is insane," Tim commented as he closed the gap between himself and Bruce. "I'm asleep or something. There's no way that some slippery mystery deer appeared in the yard overnight and is now just lying there while he pets it."

"Insane or not," Bruce nodded to where his eldest was lowering himself to sit beside the animal, "it's working. Any ID on him?" he called, pitching his voice low.

"Aah..." Dick ran one hand along the bright red straps criss-crossing the creature's body. "Here's something. Looks like a name tag..." He read it, then began to laugh.

"What is it?" Tim queried.

"Well, his name's not Bob," was chuckled back. "Bruce, Tim, meet Cupid. No wonder you let me come up close like this," he directed playfully at the caribou, reaching up to scratch near the base of its antlers. "You're a lover."

"Cupid," Bruce said flatly. "Of course."

"Not exactly the most original name for a reindeer," Tim opined. "The question is, who named him that? We've _got_ to figure out who he belongs to."

The billionaire nodded as he watched his eldest scoot a little closer to their unexpected visitor, speaking inaudibly. "Yeah. We do. _Before_ Dick comes up with some ridiculous argument like 'Cupid was just seeking asylum from owners who didn't love him' and then pouts until I say he can stay here." He paused. "Come on, we'd better go see if there's anything else we can glean from the harness. I don't like him being up there alone."

"You...want to go close to it?" Tim hung back.

"Yes. Why?"

The younger male heaved a heavy sigh. "Nothing. I'm...not much of an animal person, that's all. Let's do this, I guess."

"Tim...you know I would do everything in my power to keep either of you from being hurt if it reacted badly, don't you?" Bruce asked, gripping his shoulder and peering at him.

"I know. It's just...this weird thing I have, okay? I'm not really comfortable around animals that weigh more than I do."

"...I didn't know that." A moment passed as he glanced back towards Dick, who was busy demonstrating that he was perfectly willing to treat four-legged creatures just as familiarly as he did two-legged ones. "Any idea why?"

"I don't know. I never had a bad experience or anything that I'm aware of, I'm just not a fan." His gaze met Bruce's. "I'm not sure, but I think it might be because I can sort of predict people, you know? I've studied what motivates them for years, so I have somewhat of a sense of what they're likely to do in a particular situation. Animals, though...well, I was always so busy studying people that I never bothered to do much studying of them. Now it's just easier to kind of avoid them when I can."

"Hmm. Well, if you don't want to come up to it, it's fine. It might be better, actually; we don't want it to feel cornered, and it's less likely to react if we aren't all three around it at once. Sound good?"

"Yeah," he visibly relaxed. "That sounds good."

"Okay. We'll be back." With that Bruce turned and made his way to where Dick was powwowing with his new friend, approaching at a measured pace and making his presence known before he got too close. "Find anything else?" he asked.

"Nope. All that's here is his name, unless something's written on the strap under his stomach for some reason. Frankly, I'm not interested in trying to get him to roll over so we can find out," Dick joked. Glancing back towards Tim, he sighed. "His whole 'big animal' thing coming out to bite him?"

"...You knew about that?"

"Yeah, he told me a long time ago. You didn't know?"

"No. I didn't," Bruce responded, his eyes troubled.

"Don't feel bad. He's told me lots of things that he says he's never told anyone else. And he's sworn me to secrecy every time, so don't even think of asking for details," a knowing grin passed over his lips.

"Right...well, how about Cupid, then? We need to unearth more of _his_ secrets, namely where he came from and how in the hell he got in here."

"It's a dead end, it looks like," Dick shrugged. "This is a really nice velvet harness, and he definitely looks healthy, so I'd say he's been well cared for. If Animal Control doesn't know where he belongs and ol' Cupes here doesn't suddenly develop the ability to speak, though, the odds of us being able to return him are pretty slim."

Bruce shot him a warning look. "'Ol' Cupes'? You're _not _keeping him. I mean that, Dick, and all the pouting in the world won't change my mind."

"Pouting? C'mon, I'm twenty six years old!"

"And you still pout when you really, really want something."

"Only because it still _works_," Dick smirked. "But I won't pout about Cupid. Someone obviously loves him, and I'd feel awful if we couldn't get him back to them, especially right before Christmas." He addressed the reindeer once more. "You think Santa's missing you, buddy? Be kind of tough for him to pull his sleigh without you, you know."

"Santa?" Bruce scoffed. "I thought I just heard you say you're _twenty _six, not six, years old."

"Hey, don't go thinking that the last eighteen years of pounding science and reason into my brain haven't been successful or anything. It's just that when a reindeer named Cupid appears in the back yard a few days before Christmas and lets me walk right up to him like people have been approaching him for centuries, I have to become a _bit_ of a believer, don't I? I mean jeez, Bruce, you have to admit this is some pretty compelling new evidence."

"It's _odd_, Dick, and that's as far as I'm prepared to go at this juncture. There's an awful lot of magic tied up in the Santa legend, and you know how I feel about magic."

"Sure. Then again, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, at least according to Arthur C. Clarke, so..." He shrugged. "Maybe what people call Santa's magic is really just technology we can't explain. Or some sort of meta-human power. Meta-reindeer power?" he wrinkled his nose. "Who knows? All I know is that Cupid is a pretty neat guy, and I'm enjoying the variety he brought to our morning." He paused. "You want to pet him? I don't think he'd mind."

"I'd rather find out where he came from."

"Christmas party pooper," Dick ribbed. "Fine. But _how_? Short of calling up every place in Gotham that might conceivably keep reindeer and asking them if they've lost one, what are we supposed to do? And where are we going to keep Cupid in the meantime? If we leave him loose he might wander off."

"...I'll get one of the ropes and we can tie him to a tree. Since we can walk right up to him, we should be able to keep the line from just slipping off." He turned away, intent on his mission, but managed just a few steps before something shifted behind him and was followed by an exclamation.

"Whoa, Cupid, down boy!"

Bruce whirled, his eyes widening as they found the reindeer on its feet. It towered over Dick, who was seated so close to it that he couldn't stand up without their heads knocking. "Move back!" the billionaire bellowed, making to rush forward and shove the caribou bodily away from his son.

"Dick,_ move_!" Tim shouted.

Before anything more could be said or done, the animal that had been lingering on the lawn all morning reversed its heading and began to trot towards the side of the house. Dick, a curious look on his face, leaped up and gave chase. "Come on!" he waved at the other two. "Let's see where he's going!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bruce followed, Tim falling in alongside him after a moment. "What is he _doing_?" the youngest wondered aloud.

"Losing his mind. He thinks that's one of Santa's reindeer."

"Wait...he _legitimately _thinks that?"

"Well, he certainly made an argument for it just now."

"...Damn, was there something in the orange juice that just didn't affect you and I? He's not stupid, he knows there's no such person as Santa!"

"Who knows? He just tried to pose everything that's happened this morning as new evidence for Santa's existence."

"...I think I need something a bit more serious than a reindeer named Cupid hanging out around the house to get me to believe that a jolly guy in a red suit delivers presents all over the world on Christmas Eve."

"Exactly." He stopped suddenly as they rounded the last corner and found Cupid galloping down the driveway, Dick loping a safe distance behind him. "Forget that. I'm not taking my training run behind a caribou."

"Think it will go all the way to the gate?" Tim asked as they watched both man and beast disappear down the winding gravel road.

"Probably, if he keeps chasing it. Let's get a car; just because that thing was docile up here doesn't mean it will be when it has its back to the wall. He may need something to dive into for protection."

They rushed for the garage and buckled in quickly, but Bruce didn't dare speed around the drive's curves for fear that Dick might be standing in the middle of one of them. By the time they reached the portal that kept the wider world at bay, the reindeer was nowhere to be seen.

"Are you okay?" Tim inquired as he sprinted to Dick, who was standing just inside the gate and staring up at the spikes that crowned it. "He was really close to you for a second there. I thought for sure he was going to step on you."

"Nah, I'm fine, Timmy. Kind of...well, kind of shock and awed, but...I guess that's to be expected."

"'Shock and awed'?" the billionaire repeated as he approached. "Why? Where's the reindeer?"

"He jumped."

A chickadee sang in the brush, and for a moment there was no other sound. "What do you mean, he _jumped_?" Bruce accused.

"He jumped the fence," Dick told him in a wondering voice.

"That's...not possible," Tim frowned mightily.

"Well, just look up there if you don't believe me," his brother pointed to the spot his eyes had been fixed on since they'd arrived. "I guess his leg must have brushed the top or something."

"...Is that a clump of fur?" Bruce blinked disbelievingly.

"Yeah. I didn't see him go over – I was a curve or two back by the time we got this far, and was pretty much just following his hoof prints in the snow to make sure he didn't veer off – but he left that. Plus," he turned, indicating the snow, "do you see those fresh marks? Well, look; they end _here_, where he jumped, but...they don't come back down."

"...Oh, holy shit," Tim muttered as they all observed the untouched powder on the far side of the barricade. "That's...that's not possible. Bruce, pinch me, would you?"

"You're not dreaming," the billionaire answered distractedly, his eyes moving back and forth from the fur to the prints. "But I think _I_ might be."

"Convinced yet?" the man who had chased the reindeer for half a mile pressed.

"Not convinced, but...intrigued." He cleared his throat. "Can you scale the fence, Dick?"

"You want to test the fur, don't you?" Dick smirked knowingly, crossing his arms.

"I...have an experiment or two I might want to run on the sample we were left, yes," he admitted with mild embarrassment.

"All in the name of scientific inquiry?"

"Right."

"Okay. Be right back." Taking his own leap at the cold, heavy iron, he began to climb without another word.

"What are you planning to test it_ for_?" Tim asked.

"I don't know yet, but...I want to know what happened here. This is too strange for me to let be. A reindeer appeared out of nowhere on the lawn, couldn't be roped, let Dick all but cuddle with it, ran off almost as soon as tying it up was mentioned, then leapt a fifteen-foot fence and _didn't_ land on the other side? That just doesn't fit in with what I know of the world, and...well, it's like Dick said. The fur is evidence of...something. Maybe not Santa," he added quickly, "but something. I want to know what."

"...Let me know if you need help? I'm, uh...curious, I guess. It's weird, the whole thing is. I'd kind of like some answers, too."

"Here you go!" Dick trumpeted as he dropped back to the ground. "One hank of bona fide reindeer fur, ripe for the sciencing."

"Sciencing isn't a word," Tim commented.

"Well, it should be."

Bruce examined his prize for a moment, then tucked it carefully into his coat pocket. "...You boys hungry after all of that?"

"Starving," Dick replied.

"I could eat."

"Then hop in the car, and I'll buy us breakfast down the road. After that," he went on, "we're hitting up every reindeer farm and Christmas event I can find and getting samples of their animals' fur. I need controls in order to know if Cupid's...different...from other reindeer."

"A greasy roadside breakfast followed by more Christmas animals?" Dick grinned. "Excellent."

"It's for science, Dick," Tim shook his head at his brother as they climbed into the vehicle.

"It's for Bruce not being able to just _believe_, is what it's for."

"Just for that comment, I'm ordering reindeer sausage with my eggs," the billionaire teased from the driver's seat.

"Not cool, Bruce!" Dick frowned. "Not cool. But what _would_ be cool," he turned to his brother, "is if I could somehow convince you to get out of the car at some of these places and maybe, just _maybe_, touch a reindeer before the day's over. We'd stay with you the whole time, honest," he swore.

Tim stared out the window for a long moment, thinking. "I guess if it's...you know...for evidence-gathering purposes," he gave in finally, "I can at least try."

"That's the spirit!"

Bruce watched them in the rearview mirror, a faint smile creasing his lips. _A day out with my boys eating food that would make Alfred shudder and chasing a mystery,_ he mused contentedly as the car rolled through the gate. _I still don't believe in Santa, but...that's a pretty damn good gift no matter who it's from. If I ever run across that Cupid again, I'll...I'll have to thank him._


	21. Warmth and Light

**Author's Note: Here's a little something for winter solstice. Sorry for the late post, the site was being a jerk and kept trying to make the entire chapter italicized instead of just thoughts, so I had to pick through the whole story. Hopefully I didn't miss anything that should have been in italics. Happy reading, and happy solstice!**

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"...Grayson," Damian paused halfway across the foyer and crossed his arms, "what are you doing?"

"Just getting ready," Dick answered easily as he zipped his coat over a pair of snow pants. "You should, too. It's almost time to head out."

"Yeah, on patrol. You're still dressed as a civilian, idiot, you can't go out like that!"

"Why not? I'm only going to the back yard."

The boy blinked at him for a long moment. "Did you hit your head while we were training earlier?" he asked finally.

"Nope."

"Then what explanation can you offer for your erratic behavior?"

"Easy question, the answer to which is that the only thing I plan to patrol tonight is the awesome bonfire we're going to be lighting in about..." He shucked a glove back to check his watch. "...Ten minutes."

"A bonfire?" Damian repeated quizzically. "...Why?"

"Because it's solstice. And," he added, walking up to the child and dropping to one knee before him, "because you've seemed kind of down the last couple weeks, and I thought it might make you feel better if we introduced a little light and warmth into the standard Gotham winter." He smiled softly. "C'mon, little brother, you'll never get away with telling me that you don't want to be the cause of a giant conflagration. I know you too well to believe that."

"Are you saying that I get to start the fire?" A tiny spark of interest flared in his eyes.

"Yup. Just with a lighter and a paper towel, not with a flamethrower or anything, but you're the official fire starter. You okay with that title?"

"I suppose I could be convinced to participate," Damian chased a nascent grin off of his face. _A fire. Light, and heat, and..._ And everything he had, in fact, been missing terribly.

"I thought you might," Dick reached up and ruffled his hair.

"Hey!" the boy protested, ducking.

"What? It's going under your hat anyway; no one will be able to see it. Now let's hurry," he stood up, "we want everything to be started before the others get here."

"What others?" No one else is required, or even particularly wanted, he snarked mentally. Your presence is sufficient.

"Relax, you know them. It's just Uncle Clark and Wally. I asked the Titans, too, but they all had…ah…other plans," he revealed a bit sheepishly.

Damian scoffed. "I guess they can't handle hearing the truth about themselves very well if I pissed them off so much that they wouldn't even come out for you. Whatever. I prefer intelligent, capable company."

Dick sighed. "Can't fault me for trying."

...No, I really can't. I don't know why you think it would be so good for me to have friends closer to my own age, but I have to admit that you're dedicated to the idea. "I'm surprised you didn't ask your girlfriend. She seems like one who enjoys things like this."

"One, Babs isn't my girlfriend," the older male grimaced, "despite my best efforts. Two…I did ask her."

"But she had 'other plans'?" the youth guessed.

"Yeah. With another guy."

"…Oh." Neither spoke for a moment. "I suppose I should get ready," Damian ventured finally._ I didn't mean to make you sad by bringing her up, Grayson. That wasn't my goal._

"Here, Alfred got you some new snow pants," Dick led him over to where a stack of winter clothing sat on one of the entry benches. "Look, we'll match," a faint grin reappeared as he pointed out that fact.

"Joy of joys," the boy half-griped despite the fact that he didn't particularly mind. He dressed swiftly, then frowned as they walked out the front and began to circle the house. "...I would ask why we're wearing so many clothes if we're going to be around a hot fire, but I suspect the answer is Pennyworth."

"Yup, Alfred insisted. We can probably shuck some of it once we've got things going without getting too nasty of a look," he advised, "but let me go first."

"I'm perfectly capable of withstanding a glare."

"I know, but...hey, Wally's here already!" he cut off, his smile widening as he picked out a silhouette in the center of the lawn. The redhead, who had been circling the shoveled-out area around a stack of wood nearly as tall as himself, glanced up. He immediately vanished, reappearing an instant later as he swept Dick off his feet and tumbled them both into the snowbank alongside the scraped and graveled walkway. A flurry of flung powder followed as the pair greeted one another playfully with hastily-made snowballs to the face. "I thought you were going to be late, bro!"

"I might have left a kiddie holiday concert before it ended just so I wouldn't be," Wally confessed as they climbed to their feet and embraced. "But what the hell, it seems like they have a concert or a recital or something every week. My leaving halfway through one thing isn't going to screw them up for life. Besides," he smirked, "nothing was on fire there."

"Nothing's on fire here yet, either," Dick pointed out. "We've still got to get the fire starter to the wood pile," he gestured towards Damian, who had hung back during the adults' exchange.

"You lighting it, Damian? Nice," the speedster said sincerely. "Who else is coming?" he turned back to his friend.

"Clark. And Alfred, obviously."

"...That's it, huh?" A wordless look passed between them that Damian could only guess involved his elder brother's incessant and fruitless attempts to catch Barbara Gordon's interest. "Sorry, bro."

"It is what it is. I'm still inviting her for New Year's, so..."

"Yeah. Well..." They mourned silently for a moment. "Anyway, we should get this party started, don't you think?" Wally shook Dick's shoulder encouragingly.

"Yeah!" the younger man plastered a smile on. "C'mon, little D, let's get you your tools."

They approached the waiting pile in a loose triangle, the taller figures walking ahead together while the youth trailed behind. "All right," Dick cheered once they'd reached their destination. "There's a ridiculous amount of starter-soaked wood chips in the middle, so once you light it step back, okay?"

"I'm not an infant, Grayson," Damian sighed. "I know how to light a fire without killing myself." _...Although to be fair I've never lit one quite like this_, he thought, his gaze traveling up the nearest pole to where its ragged end jutted into the fabric of the night._ Buildings and survival blazes, yes; bonfires built specifically for fun, no._

"In that case," his guardian reached into his pockets, "I give you your sword and your scepter, grand marshal." Handing over a twisted-up paper towel and a lighter, he bowed dramatically and backed away. "Do your duty."

Wally, too, took several long steps towards the house, leaving Damian alone in the face of his task. He glanced covertly towards the spot Dick had occupied a second before, then looked down at the items he'd been invested with. _Let's start a fire_, an impish smirk flashed across his face. With that he yanked off his glove, flicked the lighter to life beneath the ersatz kindling, and chucked it through the nearest gap.

A hand on his collar dragged him backwards as soon as the flaming towel left his hand. Before he could protest the extraction he was made grateful for it, as a wave of intense heat washed over them, drawing a sheen of sweat and wicking it away just as quickly. Fire licked skyward with a loud whoompf, so much dry bark and tinder evaporating in the sudden inferno that the air was immediately tangy with smoke. "...Wow," Damian murmured as a flash of blue sparked in the heart of his creation._ That...that was pretty cool._

"Nice job, little brother," Dick complimented, his fingers moving from the boy's coat to his shoulder and squeezing gently. "It looks good."

"Whew," Wally pulled off his hat. "It's a hot one, that's for sure."

Alfred emerged from the back of the house and called out to them worriedly. "Is everything all right, Master Dick?"

"We're golden, Alfred!" he waved back.

"Very good, sir. I'll fetch you out some chairs momentarily."

"Great, thanks!"

The three of them stood silently, listening to the dry wood crackle and snap. Dick's hand stayed on Damian's shoulder, but rather than complain or shake it off he let it be, focusing on the dancing flames._ The fire moves like you do, Grayson,_ he mused. _There and then gone...bright, subdued, bright again...barely able to touch anything without leaving a mark._ His eyes narrowed._ Fire's a powerful element. You should be glad to share so many traits with it._

"Hello, all," a new voice rose behind them. "Hope I haven't missed too much of the fun."

"Hey, Uncle Clark!" Dick bounded away from the fire to take some of the chairs the Kryptonian was carrying. "You didn't miss much, we just lit it a few minutes ago." They set down their loads where the heat was tolerable rather than baking, and the younger man threw himself forward for a hug. "Good to see you."

"You too, pal," Clark replied, the tightness with which he squeezed his surrogate nephew evident to the two who were watching. "...Wally," he extended his hand and gave the redhead a firm clap on the back next. "Hello, Damian," a nod and a smile were finally sent to the child observing the proceedings. "Alfred told me you lit the fire."

"I did," he confirmed shortly.

"Well, it looks good. It's certainly big enough," his gaze returned to Dick. "Hang a painted sheet high enough up over it and you could probably make a pretty decent Batsignal," he joked.

"Let's just hope Batman never needs to be called to Wayne Manor," was half-jested back.

"Agreed." He paused. "Are we it?"

"Ah...yeah. Us and Alfred," Dick turned his eyes to the base of the fire. "Everyone else was...busy."

"That's alright," Clark tried to soften the blow. "Heck, we could save the world with the crew we've got here, so having fun shouldn't be too tough of a task."

"Indeed, Mister Kent," Alfred ghosted from the darkness carrying a small cooler with a box balanced on top. "Now that we've drinks and...marshmallows," a muscle under his left eye twitched, "we can have quite the little party."

Things did indeed liven up once everyone had something to sip and the main attraction had burned itself down to where its output was something less than that of a blast furnace. Even the butler conceded to join in the festivities, accepting a seat and taking the occasional nip from a flask he removed from his pocket and passed around. As the adults talked gaily amongst themselves, Damian listened, lingering on the edge of the gathering and saying nothing unless he was directly addressed. Each time he passed by Dick's chair, the man reached out to touch him or sent him a curious glance, checking silently that he was having a decent enough time. The fire offered his skin a warmth that the sun hadn't been able to adequately provide for two months, and despite his best efforts to not care he found himself enjoying the oasis of heat and light. He perked up enough in the glow that he almost laughed on several occasions, only just catching himself before the sound escaped.

It was sheer luck that he happened to look up at a crucial moment and catch a glimpse of a feminine figure passing through the beam of one of the house's rear lights. _Gordon_, he bristled, glancing towards his brother to see if he had sensed the woman's presence._ What are you doing here? We're...He's having fun. You'll make him feel bad. Go away._ Without giving any sign, he slipped away from the light and cheer to catch the interloper. He stopped her midway between the manor and the fire, in a band of darkness that would keep them invisible to all but the Kryptonian. "Why are you here?" he opened with a demand.

"...Damian?" she peered at him. "Hey. Dick invited me. I know I'm late-"

"And I know you're a fool," he cut her off.

"Excuse me?"

_...Oh. I don't know where that came from_, he realized with a trace of consternation. _Still, you showing up like this will ruin things, and you are being stupid about him. This has been a less than abhorrent evening thus far,and you're going to ruin it if you make him sad_. "You shouldn't have come."

"He told you about my date, didn't he?" she asked wisely.

"Yes." _He doesn't even look at other girls,and you're out with other men. I shouldn't care,_ he wrestled with himself for a moment,_ but I do. I do because he deserves better than you._

"Damian, you aren't old enough to understand-"

"How old does a person have to be to understand that he loves you, and that you're an imbecile for not reciprocating?" he sneered. "How many men of his caliber do you think are going to come sniffing at your door?"

"What-"

"Here's a hint; none. None, Gordon," he threatened, his voice dropping into a prepubescent version of his father's signature Bat growl, "because they don't exist."

"...Damian-"

"Hi, Babs," the topic of their conversation spoke up suddenly, his hands materializing on the boy's tense shoulders. "Glad you could make it. Come on down, there's plenty of room."

He spoke quietly, and Damian could hear pained bewilderment mixing with ecstatic joy in his tone. _God damn you, Barbara Gordon_, he cursed as the woman accepted the invitation. _God damn you._

As soon as they regained the fire he shortened his pacing arc, hovering closer to Dick's chair than he had before. Only a brief moment of awkwardness passed between the new arrival's first step into the firelight and the conversation's return to its previous levels of conviviality, a phenomenon that Damian realized could not have occurred had the man whom he was feeling inexplicably defensive over been any less welcoming to the latecomer. Now focusing his ears intently on everything that was being said lest Barbara make the mistake of uttering a potentially hurtful remark, he let his eyes wander back to the fire and waited for her misstep.

His opportunity to glare never came, however, and by the time Dick suggested they break out the marshmallows he was beginning to wonder if his words had, perhaps, had an effect on her. Loosening his surveillance somewhat, he accepted a long toasting fork and settled down in the half-melted snow at his brother's feet to roast his ration. Not entirely certain how the procedure worked but unwilling to say as much, he burned the first two, and had to fight to keep his expression free of disgust as the blackened skins flaked apart in his mouth. _That's disgusting_, he grimaced._ Why do people cook these things over an open flame if that's how they end up?_

He was about to resign himself to eating his third and final serving raw when he noticed how Dick was manipulating his treat. His slow, even turning was mesmerizing, and a little shock of amazement went through him as the white clump of sugar began to tan over the heat of the flames. _So that's how you do it. It's annoying that it takes so long, but...that looks like it tastes a lot better than mine did._

"You want to try one that doesn't look like it's been exposed to a nuclear blast?" the marshmallow was bounced in front of him temptingly.

"...But it's yours," he frowned.

"Eh. I've got two more. Besides, I kind of prefer making them to eating them. Careful!" a warning was voiced as he reached for the glob, "that's going to be hot."

It was, but he ate it anyway. Thick, burnished velvet scraped the charred remnants of his failures away, and warm, almost tasteless semi-liquid followed, leaving his taste buds singing. "...It was_ almost_ perfect," he informed the man seated behind him with false disdain.

"Almost?" Dick grinned as if he knew better. "Let's see you make one as good."

Damian tried, failing only because he was distracted by a particularly ribald comment from Wally that left everyone else laughing and was sufficient to draw a thin guffaw from him. When he turned his stick next, it was to find that the single moment of inattention had crisped the extreme edge of the marshmallow. Cursing under his breath, he flung it into the fire.

"Here," a fresh opportunity appeared over his shoulder before the fork could follow. "I don't think Alfred will skin me alive if I only give you one more."

Taking it, he strengthened his resolve and shut out the talk of the adults. With a painful lack of speed, his final attempt browned to the color of a fawn's hide. Holding his breath, he pulled it back and examined it meticulously, searching for any sign of error.

"Nice job, little D," Dick leaned down to compliment. "Why am I not surprised that you mastered cooking marshmallows just as fast as you master everything else?"

_I...thanks_, the boy bit back. "Here," he offered brusquely. "You have it."

"Nah, go for it."

"You issued a challenge, Grayson. This is my answer to it. Eat the marshmallow," he demanded. _After all, I...I made it for you._

"Okay, okay. Far be it from me to back out of a duel." Chuckling, Dick popped the bite into his mouth and chewed. After a moment's contemplation, he beamed. "Perfect."

"...Good."_ Perfect. Was it really, though? Or did you just say that because you wanted to make me feel good about it? _He frowned as he set his fork aside and hunched forward, resting his elbow on his knees and his chin in his hands._ It wouldn't be the first time you've done something like that. Still...I suppose I don't mind, so long as everyone else thinks it really was perfect. _Another bout of amusement exited the group behind him._ This really wasn't an entirely horrible idea, this bonfire, he decided. Not so entirely horrible at all._

He was awakened he knew not how much later by the beginnings of an attempt to pick him up. "I'll walk," he said perturbedly without looking to see who had been about to move him.

"Sure," Dick's voice agreed. "Let's go, though. It's kind of late. Everyone else already left, and Alfred's taking the chairs in."

Damian opened his eyes to find that the massive tower of fire that had started the night had been reduced to a mere pile of coals, from which occasionally licked a desperate, dying flame. "...Oh," he said quietly, a sudden feeling of loss invading him. "It's over."

"Yeah..." Dick, seeing that his sibling wasn't making any efforts to move, dropped to the ground beside him. "But that's okay. It served it's purpose, right?" he inquired hopefully.

"If by 'served it's purpose' you mean it made me hate the winter a little less...well..." A memory of the shifting heat and the sweet smell of wood smoke washed over him. "...I guess it did alright."

"Good. Then we'll just have to have another one sometime soon, huh?"

"...Will Pennyworth allow it?"

"He said something about the landscaping needing an update next summer anyway when I initially suggested this one, so...I don't see why not."

"Mm." Good. Very good.

"Hey, Dami?"

"Yes?"

"...Thanks for defending my honor earlier," the joke fell flat. "I didn't even know she was here until I noticed you were missing."

"I meant what I said. She's a dumbass." _...And the other thing,_ Damian added in his head._ I meant that, too. No one else I've ever known would do something like this just to try and make me feel better. Hell, no one else would even notice that I...that I maybe missed the heat, and the light. It's too dark here in the winter, and too cold, but...this made it almost tolerable._

"She's her own person who makes her own decisions," the man sighed. "And I love her, just like you said." He paused. "I love you, too."

"...I know. That's why you let me light a giant fire in the back yard."

"Yup. Well...that, and giant fires with friends are just plain awesome. But mostly the first part." With that he stood up and offered the boy his hand. "C'mon, little brother," he jerked his head towards the house. "It's bed time for both of us. Alfred said he'd finish up out here."

Damian hesitated, then let himself be pulled to his feet. "When...when do you think this will happen again?" he asked as they started towards the manor.

"Probably New Year's. Is that soon enough for you?"

"...Yes."

"Good. Then it's a plan." Neither spoke again until they'd shucked their gear in the foyer and mounted the stairs. "...Night, Dami. You want tucked in?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Okay. See you at breakfast." Yawning, Dick disappeared into his room.

Damian remained in the hallway for a second more, staring at the door that had closed behind him._ I'm fine_, he thought slowly._ I'm fine because I have a friend...a brother...like you. Someone who will let me light fires just to feel better. Good night, Grayson,_ he turned towards his own chamber. _I hope you s__leep well._


	22. The Smallest Gift

"Is everyone done eating?" Dick inquired, glancing at the group gathered around the center of the long dining room table. When no one objected, he grinned. "Awesome. Hey, Alfred, do you have a second?" he called towards the kitchen.

"...Good heavens, young sir, I do wish you wouldn't shout in the house," the butler requested as he entered a moment later with a dishcloth in his hands. Draping it over his arm, he considered the scene. "Are you so impatient for me to clear your places as to render such a decibel level necessary?"

"Sorry," Dick said sheepishly. "I didn't shout because of the dishes, though. It's...well, I have something I need to say, and I wanted everyone to hear it at once." With that he fell silent, shooting a tremulously look at the woman seated across the table from him.

"...So are you going to start talking, or what?" Damian asked flatly.

"Yeah! Yeah. Sorry," he apologized again. "Um...It's just that I've been waiting all day for the right time, and...I want this to come out right, because it's kind of...well...I mean I've never...ah, crap." He blushed suddenly, then let the great secret he'd been suppressing come tumbling out. "...Babs and I are having a baby at the end of April."

For a moment everyone who wasn't preparing to become a parent was too busy processing the announcement to react. It was Alfred who conquered his speechlessness first. "That is absolutely marvelous news, Master Dick," he congratulated, a broad, joyful smile spreading over his usually stoic face. "I did wonder when you turned down your usual glass of Burgundy with the roast, Miss Barbara, but it makes perfect sense now."

"That's great, Dick," Tim shook himself next, turning to his brother with sincerity shining in his eyes. "Do you know what it is yet?"

"Not until the third," Barbara answered. "That's when our next ultrasound is. We'll find out then."

"So long as little bit cooperates," Dick added. "Kid was being a brat last time and kept mooning the technician," he joked.

"'Little bit'?" Damian arched an eyebrow. "You've already given it a nickname?"

"Well, sure. I have to refer to the baby somehow until I know whether to say 'he' or 'she,' don't I?"

"Aren't you going to congratulate your brother and sister-in-law, Master Damian?" Alfred asked pointedly of his youngest charge.

The boy appeared affronted. "Isn't that like telling them 'good job' for eating or breathing?"

"Master Damian!"

"It's okay, Alfred," Dick broke in. "I mean...well, he has a point, sort of. I did kind of hope you'd be at least sort of excited to have a little niece or nephew, though, Dami."

"I...do you two have time for a baby?" he inquired seriously. "I heard they take a lot of time."

"Well, we already keep strange hours and don't get much sleep," Barbara replied. "We've discussed splitting patrols so that one of us can be home with the baby-"

"-and I kind of figured it wouldn't be too difficult for me to shift some of my workload to be done from home, so that's fewer daytime hours that we have to have covered by someone else." Dick nudged Bruce's leg playfully under the table. "What do you say, boss? Give a poor working man a break?"

"...You know you can do your work from wherever you need to," the billionaire told him, his voice a bit distant. "I told you that when you initially asked to work in R and D with Tim."

"Although if you brought the kid to work, you know every secretary in the building would be volunteering for babysitting duties," Tim suggested.

"Yeah, but...I don't think I'm going to want to pass little bit around outside the family for a while. Call me overprotective," he shrugged.

"We'd all know where you learned it from, at least," Babs teased.

"Very true," Dick grinned.

"There's no need for outside help," Alfred said, a mild possessiveness coming through in his tone. "It's been many years, of course, but I daresay I still know how to care for an infant. I'd be perfectly happy to watch the young master or miss whenever you need."

"We figured you would be, but we didn't want to assume," Barbara smiled. "Thank you, Alfred."

"It will be my pleasure, I assure you both."

"I don't mind babysitting occasionally," Tim pitched in.

"Thanks, Timmy," Dick beamed. "Well," he stretched, "I'd stay and patrol, but we're supposed to go over to Jim's for dessert and it wouldn't be fair to make Babs tell her side of the family by herself. So, unless there's anything else?" he glanced at both Damian and Bruce, whose opinions on his announcement were still being withheld.

"No," the boy said petulantly, playing with his napkin and trying to look bored.

"No," the billionaire echoed, "other than that that's...good news."

A beat passed as Dick surveyed them both knowingly. "Okay," he shrugged, standing. "Shall we, pretty lady?"

"Yeah, we'd better finish telling people before I start waddling and give it away."

"You really aren't showing hardly at all yet," Alfred noted as she, too, rose to her feet. "It's only once one learns your condition that it's noticeable."

"Lucky me. It would have been obvious what our news was if I'd come in the front door with a bowling ball attached to my stomach."

"Indeed it would have," the butler hummed, pleased. "Would you like me to see you to the door?"

"Nah, we've got it, Alfred," Dick waved the offer off politely, taking his wife's arm. "If I can't find the coat closet by now we have serious issues. Night, guys; if I don't see you out and about later, then we'll both see you in the morning for Christmas."

A scattering of 'good nights' followed them out into the hall. They dressed slowly, talking in low, loving voices about the reactions everyone was likely to show at the Gordon residence and the fact that they needed to get Babs a maternity coat before the baby decided it was time to declare its presence to the world by making her current jacket impossible to close. The front door was half-open before a voice assailed them.

"Dick?"

He turned back. "What's up, Bruce?"

"Do you have a second?" the billionaire asked, his face pensive.

"Yeah! Um," he swiveled guiltily back to Barbara. "Give me one minute?"

"Take your time," she reached up to kiss his cheek. "I'll get the car warm."

"Thanks," he smiled. "Be out in a few."

"Mm-hmm. See you twenty," she teased, closing the passage behind herself.

"...That girl," Dick shook his head after her, "knows us too well." Facing into the house again, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Study?" he guessed.

"Yeah."

Neither spoke again until they were safely ensconced in Bruce's leather-bound home office. "I hope I'm not about to get a lecture on condoms," the younger man smirked. "I figured I could get a pass on that, seeing as how I'm married."

"No. I...I wanted to speak in the dining room, but..."

"Too many people for what you really wanted to say?" Dick winked. "I know you, Bruce. I wasn't offended, and neither was Babs. So don't apologize for being yourself, okay? That's not a habit I want little bit to pick up, and since he or she is going to be spending a lot of time with Grandpa Bruce...well, you see where I'm going with this," he smiled. Squeezing the stunned-looking billionaire's elbow as he moved past him to drop into one of the deep armchairs set in opposition to the desk, he laughed. "I just blew your mind with that title, didn't I?"

"Ah...yes. A bit. Not that I'm complaining, it's just..."

"A lot to get used to."

"Right." Silence. "Drink?"

"A quick one, sure. Babs can still drive for now, she won't mind."

Bruce strode to the massive globe beside the fireplace and tilted the northern hemisphere back. "...How's your Scotch palette these days?"

"Developing. I managed to not choke on an Islay the other night."

"Good. This won't be a bad choice, then," he said, lifting a heavy crystal decanter from its spot. "You didn't say what you'd prefer."

"Whatever you're pouring."

"I meant the baby," he chuckled, relaxing now that he was alone with his eldest. "Boy or girl?"

"Oh. You know, there's that old thing everyone always says about how they don't care, so long as it's healthy, but...I'd like a boy for the first one."

"Any particular reason?"

"Well..." A moment passed as he considered the question. "I guess I'd prefer a boy right off so that I can name him after my dads."

A faint ringing rose to the ceiling as the decanter bounced against one of the whiskey glasses in time with the sudden tremble in Bruce's lip. "...Dick," he said helplessly, setting the vessel down to prevent himself spilling a thousand dollars worth of single-malt onto the rug.

"Don't say anything," the younger man requested quietly, appearing at his side as soon as he noticed his distress. Seeing that the second serving had only been half-poured, he took the container from the billionaire's hands and topped it off. "...Just drink with me."

They raised their glasses, the amber liquid in Bruce's sloshing gently as their gazes met. "What exactly do you want to toast to?" he asked unsteadily, his eyes wet.

"I know we don't know," Dick mused, "but I just have this feeling that we should be drinking to the health and happiness of John Bruce Grayson."

"To...to John...Bruce...Grayson," came a slow agreement. A soft, proud smile dawned on the older man's features as he spoke his unborn grandchild's name for the first time. "May he be wiser, happier, and healthier than any and all of his predecessors," he added. "Although if he's any happier than his father I don't know what we're going to do with him."

They drank on that note, both savoring the sweet, vaguely smoky flavor that rolled over their tongues and down their throats. "...That's a damn good Scotch," Dick whistled appreciatively.

"You like it?"

"Yeah. That...wow."

"Then I'll make sure Alfred gets a bottle under the tree for you before morning. Hell," his mouth twitched, "I might even wrap it myself."

"It will be obvious which one it is, then. The bottle with a ribbon tied around the neck."

"I can wrap presents decently enough when I want to," Bruce defended himself. "...But I'll never open a gift any greater than the one you and Barbara gave me tonight. Thank you, chum."

"Hey," Dick opined, "if I'm half the dad you were, then Johnny will be just fine."

"You will be," the billionaire predicted firmly. "You'll be more. Twice the father I ever was, easily." He lifted his glass once more. "...Here's to you, son. Merry Christmas."

* * *

"Hey, little brother. Long night?"

Robin turned to find Nightwing crouched a few feet away. "Batman left me on this boring-ass roof, so yes. What do you care?"

"Ouch," the older vigilante said lightly, creeping forward until he was level with the costumed boy. "But not unexpected."

"What are you talking about?" Robin asked, turning his head away.

"I'm talking about how you barely said anything after Oracle and I's little announcement earlier." He paused. "You know nothing's going to change, right?"

"Don't be stupid, Nightwing. Babies change everything."

"Not everything," the man insisted. "A lot, yes. But everything? No way. No baby could never make you stop being my little brother," he gave an example, "or cause me to love you, or any of the others, less. If anything I'll love you all even more, because I'll see your love for the baby and respond to it."

"Yeah? And what if I don't love the baby?" the youth challenged.

"...Is that what you're worried about?" Nightwing stared at him. "Not loving the baby?"

"I don't know! I'm not...just shut up and leave me alone!" Robin huffed, rising and stalking to the opposite end of the roof. There he stood, arms crossed and eyes hot, until a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. "...Go away. Go...go be a father. Shouldn't you be with your wife?"

"Hush. I can be a father and a brother at the same time." He paused without loosening his grip. "As for you not loving the baby, I know better than that. I know better than that because I know you. You love kids, and you'll love mine."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." He sighed. "I knew something was bothering you at dinner, but this is crazy. Listen to me; you are, in some indelible ways, just like Batman."

"...Is that supposed to be a compliment, or an insult?"

"Neither, in this case. It's just a fact. You aren't good at expressing when you care about someone or something. When you show that you love something, you do it in such a roundabout or contrary way that most people can't tell. I understand that, though, and I can read it, because I have spent the majority of my life with Batman and he does the same thing. So let me tell you a little secret about yourself, Dami," he leaned down to whisper against his ear. "You already love the baby."

"...What?" Robin answered suspiciously.

"You do. I can tell you do. Do you know why?"

"No," came a disturbed-sounding reply.

"I can tell because if you didn't already love the baby, you wouldn't be worried about not loving it. What you fear isn't not being able to love it at all; it's not feeling as though you love it enough."

As the taller figure's words sank in, the boy relaxed. "...Oh."

"Yeah. It sounds weird, but...I'm not wrong, huh?"

"...No. I don't think you are. But..."

"But what?"

"There's something else. I mean..." He pulled away and turned to face his brother. "What I said at dinner wasn't false. Babies...they take a lot of time."

Nightwing smiled softly. "I'll always have time for you, little brother. Don't you dare worry about that." With that he extended a single finger and pushed lightly on the child's nose. "Reset button," he murmured. "Feel better now?"

"...Yes."

"No more problems we need to work out right now?"

"No."

"Good. Let me know if that changes, okay? We'll figure it out together." He reached for his belt, preparing to pull his grappling gun out. "Let's go find the others. Batman can yell at me for pulling you from this roof; you're right, it is boring."

"Nightwing!" Robin exclaimed before he could take off.

"What's up?"

"Um...look..." He blew out an annoyed puff of air and fixed his gaze on the horizon. "...You're going to be a pretty good father," he said finally. "Maybe even a little better than pretty good. So...you know...your baby's lucky. And that's all I have to say about it, so don't ask for details," he finished roughly.

"...Hey, Robin?" Nightwing's voice, heavy with emotion, broached.

"Yeah?"

"You're going to be a pretty kick-ass uncle."

The boy looked up at that, his expression lacking its usual self-certainty. "...Do you really think so?"

"I know so, little brother," his hand came down on the child's shoulder. "I absolutely do."

Robin faced back into the night, his chin firm once more. "Okay," he nodded, reaching for his belt. "Then let's do this."

Side by side, they swung into the darkness.


	23. Red and Green

"Very good, young sir," Alfred commented as his charge dumped a meticulously measured half-teaspoon of vanilla into the bowl containing the beginnings of cookie dough. "Now, what does the recipe say we need next?"

"Um...two cups of flour," the nine-year-old read neatly. "...Can I measure it? Please?"

"Hmm..." the butler pretended to consider the question. "I suppose I can allow that, seeing as how you did so well with the vanilla. Go on with the flour, and I'll mix everything in."

"Oh, wait!" Dick exclaimed. "We forgot the egg!"

"Did we?" _I wondered whether or not you'd catch that little error_, he thought proudly. _Now I won't have to try and put it in on the sly to preserve your feelings._ "Would you like to crack it?"

"Can I?!"

"I don't see why not," he agreed, handing him the speckled ovoid that had nearly been lost amongst the array of other ingredients. "Carefully, now."

The child's lower lip disappeared between his teeth as he concentrated. Tapping the egg against the edge of the counter until it cracked, he held it dead center over the mix and let the innards slip out. "...Ew," he wrinkled his nose at the yolk. "Poor almost-bird. Eggs are weird. Yummy, though, which is why we eat them." His head turned to face the man he was assisting. "Okay. I think you can mix it now."

"Indeed? Very well," Alfred acquiesced, taking the bowl and crossing to the opposite counter. _I needn't add the egg, but I must remove the bit of shell you dropped in_, he bit back a chuckle as he plucked out a pale brown sliver. _No harm done._

"...Uh-oh."

Setting the mixer he'd been about to switch on back down, the butler turned. "Was that an 'uh-oh' I heard just now, young sir?" he asked. _What could possibly have gone wrong with a simple pouring of flour?_

"Um...yeah." Dick shuffled on his step-stool until his abashed expression came into view. "I think...I think I tried to go too fast," he confessed, a little of the white powder that had coated his entire face and a portion of his neck falling to the floor as he spoke. "It puffed up in this big cloud, and I couldn't avoid it...what?" he inquired, trailing off.

Alfred was chuckling audibly through the hand he'd covered his mouth with, and merely shook his head as he approached the youth. "Well, at least we've learned that your penchant for wearing masks extends into the kitchen," he remarked. "Hold still for just one moment, if you please..." Raising a finger, he drew a neat mustache and beard that left him barely able to restrain his amusement. _…That was unexpectedly cheeky of me. How odd. Still, it is adorable…_ "Yes, that's quite a good disguise, if I do say so myself. Very dapper."

Dick giggled, inhaling a few grains of flour in the process. A ferocious sneeze naturally followed, and while he managed to get his elbow up to catch the violent exhalation the motion caused nearly all of the baking staple to cascade down onto the marble. "...Double uh-oh," he said worriedly, straightening.

"It's no problem," the Englishman assured him. "You'll just have to help me sweep up when we're finished."

"You're not mad?"

"No, young sir. You didn't dump it out on purpose, so I've no reason to be. Here," he paused long enough to dampen a paper towel. "Once you've wiped your face and measured out the rest of the flour – a tad more slowly this time, I think – go on back into the pantry and bring me the green soup bowl you find on the second shelf to the left."

"A soup bowl? Why do we need a soup bowl when we're making cookies?"

"You'll see why. Hurry now, we want to be finished before Master Wayne gets home."

"Okay," Dick nodded genially, accepting his makeshift rag. "...Did I get it all? Bruce'll be upset if I get his suit dirty when I hug him."

"You're clean enough for hugging purposes, yes," Alfred took the soiled towel back and threw it away.

"Okay, good. Now I'll try this measuring again," he swiveled back to his project, "and maybe it won't be so explosion-y this time..."

The mixer's motor had just gone silent a few minutes later when the butler heard a happy cry from the pantry. The quick, quiet pattering that followed informed his ears that the final ingredient was on its way, and a smile sneaked back across his lips. _If you like my chocolate chip cookies, Master Dick,_ an anticipatory thought raced through his head, _I cannot wait to see your face when you try the special Christmas candy version_. "Have you found something to your liking?" he asked as the boy halted beside him and proceeded to rise up and down on his toes joyfully.

"There's candy in the bowl! Are...are we going to put these in the cookies?" Dick ventured, all but trembling with hope as the red and green M&Ms shifted with every bounce.

"Would you like to?" the Englishman replied as normally as he could manage.

"Yes please!"

"All right, then, go ahead and pour them in," he shifted aside.

"...I can't reach."

"Ah, well, that's an easy fix." Ignoring his back, which hadn't lifted sixty pounds of eagerly squirming child in some two decades, he placed his charge on the counter. "You're only allowed up rather than being told to fetch your stool because we're in a hurry," he answered the unspoken question in the boy's look. "Come on, now, and I'll let you watch while I stir them in."

Tittering once more, Dick tilted the bowl and loosed a dichromatic torrent of candy. "Wow," he breathed as they disappeared into the dough under pressure from Alfred's spoon. "These are going to be the best cookies ever, aren't they?"

_Yes, Master Dick, I think I can safely say that they will be_, Alfred mused, _if not due to their taste then because it has been so long since I had a willing young helper in this task that the pleasure of your company will add immeasurably to this batch's value, at least in my book._ "...You'll just have to taste-test one for me when they come out and let me know, now won't you?" he teased.

"Really?" A bright grin appeared. "Hooray! Thanks for letting me help you bake; you're the greatest cook in the world, and I had fun."

"You're very welcome, young sir," the butler nodded, pleased. "You're welcome to join me in the future as well, if you'd like."

Dick's mien turned serious as he paused in the act of sneaking a piece of candy that had stuck near the bowl's rim and met the man's gaze. "...Every year?"

"Certainly."

"...Okay. Every year from now on, we'll make these cookies," he said with the infinite gravity of a child making a solemn promise. "Together."

"I look forward to it, Master Dick," Alfred told him sincerely. "I really and truly do."

* * *

_Eleven years later..._

"Hey, Grayson!" the bullish officer who had led Alfred back from the precinct's main reception hollered across a broad room filled with cluttered desks. "Someone here to see you! Just wait here until he comes up, huh?" he ordered the guest. "Take him a minute." Then, without waiting for a response, the man disappeared into the hubbub of the hallway.

_...What a kind, congenial human being_, the butler thought drily. _Although I suppose I'm being a bit of a Grinch this year, given how things are..._ His thoughts trailed off as a familiar face emerged from the sea of blue uniforms, spotted him, and lit up. _Ah, there you are,_ he smiled back. _A sight for sore eyes._

"Alfred!" the younger man yipped joyfully, finally breaking free of the crowd to throw himself into an embrace. "...Wait," he pulled back, concerned. "Is something...is something wrong at home? I mean, you never...is Bruce okay?" his voice dropped.

"He's safe and sound, young sir, or at least he was when I left him. A bit-" The noise level in the bullpen swelled suddenly, drowning out the rest of his sentence. "My word. Is there somewhere-"

Dick bade him follow with a simple wave of his hand. They wove through a mess of harried-looking officers, drunken suspects in the process of being booked, and more than one rambunctious prostitute who thought she could claw and spit her way free of charges. _You work amongst such...examples of humanity…as this every day_, the Englishman shook his head as they passed into a back corridor and through to a Spartan break room, _and yet I would bet good money that you still rarely utter a coarse word_. "That was quite the experience," he commented once they could hear each other again. "Is it always like that? I don't see how you get any work done."

"It's busy today. Christmas tends to bring out the best and the worst in people," Dick shrugged. "Anyway, grab a chair! You were saying about...about Bruce?" his expression grew pleading.

"Yes, I was. He's perfectly fine," Alfred shared, "if miserable." A beat passed. "He misses you terribly, Master Dick."

"...I miss him, too. I just...if he can't get over my choice in profession, I don't see how I can...you know...make amends. I love this job," he said fiercely. "We've made so much progress in the last ten months. You wouldn't believe it. When I started, that room we just came through would have been quiet and half-empty, because virtually no one was doing their jobs. Now...well, you saw it. If he can't respect what I do..."

"Of course he respects what you're doing," the butler shook his head. "Good lord, child, think about who you're speaking of. He's immensely proud of you, my boy, he's merely frightened that you'll be hurt, or worse. He'd never say as much, but that's all it is. Come, now, you must know that," he lectured gently.

"I do, I just...he had no right to say what he said, Alfred. Scared or not, he...he had no right. That was cruel, saying that I never...that I never learned anything from him." His eyes fell to the floor. "...I learned everything from him. Well, almost," he amended quickly, a faint smile painting itself across his features. "I learned plenty from you, too." He paled suddenly. "Oh, no," a mournful whisper passed his lips. "Oh, Alfred, I broke my promise, didn't I? It's...it's the twenty-third, and we didn't make our cookies. I'm sorry, it's just been so busy, and with the way things have been between Bruce and I..."

"Hush, Master Dick," the butler reached across the small table between them to grasp his wrist gently. "I didn't come here to chastise you because the specifics of being an adult got in the way of an oath you made as a child. What I came here to do," his gaze softened, "was bring you and your co-workers a little sustenance. It's nothing fancy, just something to give all of you who are working to keep the public safe this holiday a little boost. If you'll help me," he went on over Dick's quizzical look, "I have four rather large containers of fresh baked goods in the car. I'd like to donate them to the seasonal efforts of the Bludhaven Police Department."

"...Oh, Alfred, that's...thank you. I've been building up your reputation as a baking genius for so long now without producing any evidence that people are starting to joke that you're a figment of my imagination," the uniformed male laughed despite the tears standing in his eyes. "This will do wonders for my credibility on that topic."

"It's nothing, young sir," Alfred shook his head. "I feel I should warn you that you'll find the usual assortment, save our red-and-greens. I couldn't quite bring myself to make those," his hand tightened on the younger man's arm.

"I...um," Dick gulped. "Listen, if...well...I have tomorrow off," he revealed. "If I was to come over...over to Gotham, to the house...assuming Bruce doesn't want me to leave, we'd still have time, wouldn't we? To make them before Christmas?"

_Precious child_, the Englishman felt his sinuses blocking up with emotion. _Please do. Come home. Come home, and make it Christmas again_. "We absolutely would have time," he assured him. "As for Master Wayne wanting you to leave...I rather think you're more likely to have difficulties getting him to let you leave. It's going to be a bit of a challenge for you to pour in the candies with him following you everywhere, but I'm sure you'll manage."

"You...you're sure he'll want me there?"

"Master Dick, I'm not going to deign to respond to that. You already know the answer in your heart, and to speak it would only sully something too pure for words." Patting his hand, he rose. "Well, since that's settled," he said firmly, leaving no room for his charge to try and wiggle out of making the trek across the river, "would you be so kind as to help me with the items I've brought? Bringing them through a back door would be preferable, if there's one nearby. I shudder to think what some of the delinquents we saw on our way in would do if they knew what we were carrying."

"Sure. There's a door at the end of the hall we can use," Dick, too, stood. "Although I should warn you that you're just as likely to be mauled by police officers as by criminals when there's sugar involved." Just before they stepped back into the passageway, he paused. "...Hey, Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

"...Thank you. I'm so glad you came today. Even if you hadn't brought pounds of goodies, I'd have been glad."

"I know, Master Dick," the butler said softly. "I know."

* * *

"...These really are the best cookies in the world," Dick commented some twenty-four hours later as he, Alfred, and Bruce stood in the Wayne Manor kitchen and sampled the still-hot first batch of red-and-greens.

As the butler had predicted, the billionaire had been unwilling to so much as entertain the idea of leaving his son alone following their tearful reunion that morning, and had sat observing while they made their traditional recipe together. Now he nodded in agreement. "They really are."

"I was worried that you might have guessed about today when you came in from patrol last night, sir," Alfred shared. "You had an odd look about you."

"Wait, what?" Dick asked.

"I caught him separating out the red and green M&Ms," Bruce revealed. "And I did consider that maybe it meant something, but...I wrote it off as unlikely." The corner of his lip twitched upward tremblingly. "I'm glad I was wrong."

The three fell silent, busy munching. When he was done, Dick moved around the breakfast bar and occupied the stool beside his former guardian, watching wordlessly along with him as Alfred prepared another tray to go into the oven. "...Everyone loved what you brought yesterday, by the way," he remarked. "I meant to tell you."

"Do your coworkers believe that I exist now, young sir?" the butler asked.

"Yeah," Dick chuckled. "I think some of them would prefer you brought them gifts tonight instead of Santa."

"Well, if your fellow officers liked my treats so much I shall have to make bringing them over an annual practice," Alfred slid the loaded cookie sheet into place. "It won't do to let my reputation wane, now will it?"

"I don't think there's any danger of that happening, but I sure as heck won't say no to cookie deliveries."

"Next year," Bruce broke in quietly, "you'll have to come home early enough to bake some of these before Alfred takes everything over."

"Next year I'll be home pretty much every time I have a couple days off in a row," Dick answered, "so I don't think that will be a problem."

"Good," the billionaire said thickly, reaching up to clasp his son's shoulder. "...Damn, these really are the best cookies in the world. Pass me another one, would you, Alfred?"

"This close to dinner, sir?" the butler arched an eyebrow.

"Aw, c'mon," Dick cajoled, grinning happily under the weight at the top of his arm. "It's Christmas Eve, and aren't we sort of...you know...celebrating?"

Alfred considered the two men seated opposite him for a long moment, then gave an indulgent smile. _Look at the pair of you, already best of friends again. Although I don't suppose that truly stopped, even when you were separated for so many months._ "Oh, very well, young sir," he conceded, handing each of his charges another serving. "Go on and celebrate to your heart's content." He hesitated, then took a second cookie for himself and raised it to them. "I know I shall."


	24. One Year and Five Words

"Master Wayne?" Alfred broke into the laughter that had been swelling from the five people gathered around the tree.

"Yeah, Alfred, what's up?" the billionaire craned his head to find him in the doorway.

"Would you like the jar, sir? It's nearly eight, and I assume you'll want to go through it before Master Damian's bedtime."

"What?" the twelve-year-old looked up, the threat of a glare lingering in the corners of his eyes. "I don't have school tomorrow. I'm going on patrol."

"Not on Christmas Eve, you aren't," Bruce ruled easily. "That's the rule. Until you're old enough to drive as a civilian, you go to bed early on Christmas Eve."

"That's bull. Grayson didn't make me skip patrol last year," the boy rebutted, crossing his arms.

"...Dick?" a quizzical look was turned to the former Batman.

"I didn't have a choice last year. The Joker and his merry men attacked a mall full of last-minute shoppers," Dick explained. "I needed the extra hands to get people out and neutralize the baddies. We didn't have Christmas Day until, like, noon." He shrugged. "Sorry. I couldn't exactly set the usual precedent there."

"It was a rather dire situation, sir," Alfred defended them. "I must agree with Master Dick that Master Damian's presence in the field was necessary. However," he went on as he turned to his youngest charge, "one needful transgression does not a permanent sundering of tradition make."

"No, it doesn't," Bruce agreed. "You're going to bed tonight, Damian. That's final."

"Grayson," the child said flatly, clearly expecting his elder brother to do something about the judgment.

"...Sorry, little brother. Even if the Joker was loose again this year, I'd have to agree with them. I didn't like having to skip your bedtime last year, but...well, there wasn't really anyone else around that I could ask. It had to be you, Christmas Eve or not."

"Since that's settled," Alfred said before anything else could be said on the matter at the risk of ruining everyone's good mood, "shall I fetch the jar, sir?"

"Yeah, Alfred, this is a good time."

"Very well, Master Wayne."

As the butler exited into the hallway, Barbara turned to Dick. "What's the jar for?" she asked.

"...Oh, that's right, you've never spent a Christmas Eve here, have you?" he remembered after a moment of confusion.

"No. I was always at my dad's when I was Batgirl."

"Right. Well, we have this tradition – other than early bed for the under-16s – that every year on Christmas Eve you take scraps of paper and write down the things you hope for for the follow year. You can do more than one, and they don't necessarily have to be serious. I think I once wished for world peace and a Furby in the same jar," he laughed.

"You did," Bruce smirked. "When you were ten. You didn't get either one."

"Oh, trust me, I remember. You see," he turned back to his girlfriend, "the way the papers work is you put them in a jar and save them. You aren't allowed to look at them until the next Christmas Eve, which is when you gather around again and read what everyone wished for. Alfred hides the jar in his room to keep us from finding it and changing things halfway through the year. It's fun to see whose wishes came true, and to hear some of the more ridiculous things that people put in." He grinned. "It's a good tradition."

"A rarity in this house," Damian muttered discontentedly.

"Quit complaining," Tim told him. "You're the only Robin who's ever gotten a pass on the Christmas Eve bedtime tradition, so you don't get to whine about it."

"I don't whine, Drake. That's your specialty."

"...Whatever, demon child."

Damian made to leap at the older male, but was restrained by Dick. "Alfred should be about back," he warned. "If he catches you fighting you know he won't hesitate to keep out some of your presents when he fills the tree tonight."

"Fine," the boy harrumphed, dropping back into his seat. "But I would point out that Drake has no room to talk about my being allowed to go out last year, since had he bothered to stick around Gotham and watch your back I wouldn't have been needed."

Tim's face flushed with a mixture of ire and shame. "You know what," he started, "I-"

"Need to sit back down," Bruce held him in place. "Just because you're an adult doesn't mean that your presents are any less at risk than Damian's."

"After that comment, I really don't give a shit."

"Timmy, calm down," Dick advised. "Damian," he said quietly, his unusual use of his youngest brother's full first name catching everyone's attention, "that was uncalled for."

"It was the truth," the boy answered, caution lurking behind his eyes at how he'd been addressed.

"That doesn't mean you have to rub it in people's faces. Would you go around telling everyone that you're Robin just because it's the truth?" A petulant but retreating glance relayed that the child would not. "Yeah, I didn't think so. What you just said was something you could have kept to yourself. So let's make sure we don't bring it up in future, okay?"

"...Whatever. Fine."

"Good. Tim? Are we good?"

"...Yeah, sure," he shrugged, not meeting Dick's gaze. "You know me."

"I do. All right," he sighed as footsteps echoed down the hall, signaling the butler's return. "Good timing." He turned to Barbara, who had watched the proceedings with a worried frown arching her lips. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "That was just...more intense than I remember it ever being before."

"It...gets like that, sometimes," Dick sighed. "Anyway, Bruce has the jar," he added cheerfully as Alfred turned into the room with a glass container and handed it to the billionaire. "So let's do this!"

"Are we all ready?" Bruce inquired, glancing imperiously at his two youngest.

"Yes," both muttered back at the same time.

"...Did I miss something during my absence?" the butler queried curiously. "The atmosphere seems rather heavier since I left."

"We were just talking, Alfred," Dick replied after a short pause. "You didn't miss anything worth mentioning."

"...Very well, young sir," the Englishman allowed skeptically. "Whenever you're ready, Master Wayne."

Bruce cleared his throat and removed the first strip of paper from the jar. "'To skip the annoying traditions next year and just open presents,'" he read aloud. "Well, that's obviously Damian's."

"And it didn't come true, for the record," the boy scoffed.

"'For the Joker to remain behind bars.' Did that one work out?" the billionaire directed towards his eldest. "I'm assuming you wrote these after you put him back in jail last Christmas."

"Nope," Dick grimaced. "I mean, yes, we wrote these after we busted him, but no, it didn't come true. He got out again in April."_ I didn't write that one_, he realized suddenly._ I can't have written it, because...because I only wrote one last year._ A memory of the previous Christmas Eve assaulted him, causing him to gulp as the five words he'd scribed came back to him. _I only wrote one, and oh god, Bruce, don't read it. Don't read it out loud. Please...please, let it have disappeared somehow, or let that have been a dream... _

"I believe I wrote that one, actually, Master Wayne," Alfred interjected.

"You did, I recognize your handwriting. I just figured Dick would know better than anyone whether or not the Joker had actually managed to stay in custody for twelve months."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that makes sense."

"What's the next one?" Tim inquired, now leaning forward and looking interested.

"Let's see...it's another of Damian's. 'No snow.' Seriously, no snow at Christmas?"

"Snow is cold, wet, and impedes movement," the child informed his father. "Its aesthetic value is grossly overrated. I'll admit that sledding and snowball fights are mildly amusing, and it does make tracking people easier, but other than for those purposes snow is a complete waste of time and I wish it didn't exist in my general vicinity."

"...So there's one vote for global warming," Barbara remarked, drawing laughs from everyone but Damian and Dick, who glared and gave a weak chuckle respectively. "This is actually an interesting tradition. Keep reading, Bruce, we haven't gotten to any of Dick's yet."

"Sorry," the billionaire apologized a moment later. "It's Damian again. 'Swords. Many.'"

"Shocking," Tim rolled his eyes.

"At least that one came partially true. I've gotten four new ones since last year," the slip's author revealed, sounding satisfied. "...But now I want to know what Grayson wrote, especially since there are only three papers left."

"Well, let's see," Bruce plucked another scrap from the jar. "Alfred wanted 'everyone to avoid major injury and unhappiness.'" Glancing over to where the butler stood with pursed lips, he grimaced. "I'm guessing that one didn't come true." Discarding it, he selected one of the final two. "'A dearth of fallen souffles.' Damn, Alfred again? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that wish came true – dessert was good, by the way – but did you seriously only put in one paper last year, Dick?"

"Look, I..." _Oh, shit, everyone's looking at me now. I shouldn't mind, but...if I really wrote what I think I did, this is not going to end on a positive note. Even if it did come true... _"I was really, really tired when we did this, okay? Dami and I had just spent the whole night putting the Joker away, and frankly we only wrote our wishes when we did because we needed something to help us wind down. So...yeah, I only did one. And whatever I wrote on there, you know...I wrote when I was exhausted. So go easy with the judging, huh?"

"No way. We're going to tease you just as bad for your weird wish as we do everyone else," Tim jested, not seeing the fear shadowing across his brother's expression. "Come on, Bruce, read it."

"He probably wished for you, Gordon," Damian smirked.

"I didn't. Not on paper, at least," Dick corrected swiftly, his gaze riveted to his surrogate father.

"That's okay, it would have been a little creepy if you had," Barbara patted his knee. "But what did you write?"

"Oh, just wait," he whispered as the billionaire unfolded the last scrap, read it, and paled slightly. The rest of the assembly was distracted enough by their conversation that they didn't see the reaction, and it was only when the reader cleared his throat roughly that they faced him again. "What...what did I write?"

Bruce held his miserable gaze for a long moment. "You wrote," he said finally, "'no elephants on endangered list.'"

_No_, Dick protested mentally. _No, I didn't. I didn't, but...thank you. Thank you for not telling them what I actually put down..._ "Oh," he smiled vaguely. "Did I?"

"Really? You could wish for anything in the world, and that's what you pick for your one paper?" Tim laughed good-naturedly at his brother. "That's about right for you."

"It didn't even come true," Damian pointed out. "Asian elephants are still endangered."

"...Yeah, they are," Dick nodded. "My wish...didn't come true."

"Maybe next year," Barbara gave him a sympathetic, if amused, smile.

"You could put it in again, young sir," Alfred suggested. "There's no rule against it, and that's a fine wish to have, at least in my opinion."

"...Nah," he shook his head. "I love elephants, but...I think I'll come up with something new this time."_ Something that hasn't come true, the way my real wish did_, he added mentally, a smile creeping back across his lips. _Thank you for making it about elephants, Bruce. You know what I wrote, and that's more than I ever expected, so...I'm okay with that. _"Where's the fresh paper?" he rubbed his hands together, suddenly eager again now that the danger had passed. "I've got a couple of ideas already..."

* * *

Bruce didn't knock before he entered his eldest's bedroom later that night. He said nothing as he slipped across the dark room to the bed, nor when he sank onto the edge of the mattress. It was only when a hand crept over and wrapped loosely around his wrist that he finally opened his mouth. "...You blew me away tonight, chum," he whispered shakily.

"I was terrified you'd read it out loud."

"No," the billionaire shook his head. "No. That...what you wrote...that's mine," he said possessively. "I'm not sharing it with anyone."

"Good." A companionable silence stretched out between them. "...I've never been so glad that something from that jar came true, Bruce. I've been laying here, thinking about those old wishes, the toys, the Robin tools, the permissions, everything else that's ever gone from false to true in the course of a year, and I've been laughing at myself for thinking I knew what happiness was."

Turning his son's hand over, the seated man gripped it gently. "It's okay, Dicky," he said simply. "I'm right here."

"I know." Blankets shifted in the dark, and suddenly Dick's forehead was leaning against Bruce's shoulder, their hands remaining entwined. "I wasn't really tired when I wrote it," he confessed. "The last thing I wanted to do was go to sleep. That was the first Joker escape since you'd...you know...and the first Christmas...and it was impossible. I wanted you so bad...just a word, just...just to hear your voice in my ear, reminding me of some tiny little aspect of his insanity that I was so sure I had forgotten...but I was on my own. The only person in that mall who had a clue what he might do next was me, and I...I just wanted you so bad, Bruce. Between that, and then Christmas the next day...I don't know how I got through it. It's all a haze, except...except writing that wish. That's the only thing that's clear, and it wasn't until we started emptying the jar earlier."

Bruce's free hand rose to the back of his son's skull and rested there, tight against his scalp. "It's okay," he repeated, his eyes hot. "I'm right here."

"...It's still hard to believe sometimes. It seems so unreal..."

"I know," he crooned. "Look, though." Releasing him, he dug in his pocket and removed a single narrow strip of paper. "This is real," he said fiercely. "This is real, and I'm real, holding it. Here," he unfolded it. "Read it. Read it out loud, Dick, and it will seem more real."

The younger man sniffled and accepted the scrap. "'I want my dad back,'" he mouthed the words delicately. "I've never wanted anything as much as I wanted that, Bruce..."

"Hey," the billionaire reached over and gently turned his chin until their gazes met. "You got him, chum. And you have no idea how much he-" he nearly choked "-loves you."

Dick eyes widened, his mouth falling open. "You...you actually said...but you've never say...that," he marveled, tears beginning to fall.

"I almost never got to say it," Bruce countered. "Your wish helped me put that into focus, and knowing something like that gives a man a lot of perspective. All I know is that when the time comes for me to actually go, Dick," he picked up his hands again, "I don't want there to be a doubt in your mind that I...that I loved you. Don't you ever doubt that, son, because I won't. Not even with my dying breath. Understood?"

Sobbing silently, Dick fell forward into him. Holding him tight, Bruce closed his eyes and began to rock. Minutes ticked by, unnoticed by either of them, and eventually the older man discovered that the younger had cried himself to sleep against his shoulder._ Ooh, baby_, he moaned internally, dabbing a few spots of wetness from the slumbering cheeks. _You haven't done that in a very long time. But I'm glad you did tonight_, he smiled softly as he laid his load down and slipped the scrap of paper from his hand._ I'm glad you did, because it reminded me that in some ways you're still my sweet little Dicky-bird. _

With that he pulled up the covers, brushed a few dark strands of hair back from the sleeper's face, and rose, backing towards the hall so that he didn't lose sight of the peaceful visage on the pillow until the last possible second._ I love you, son, _he swallowed heavily just before the door closed. _I love you, and my unwritten wish for this year – for forever – is that I never again hold myself back from telling you as much. _

_ Sleep well, my boy, and Merry Christmas._


	25. The Christmas Truce

**Author's Note: Here you are, lovely readers; the final story of this season. For those of you who have been clamoring for more Jason, he's here, as is the rest of the family. I hope you enjoy reading this last piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, and all the others too; it's been a fun way to get into the holiday spirit, and I may very well do it again next year. For now, thanks to everyone who's come this far, and thanks twice over to those who have reviewed; your kind words and attentiveness are the best presents any author could hope for. Happy holidays to you all, and as always, happy reading.**

* * *

"Well," Alfred straightened from tucking the last scrap of torn paper into a garbage bag, "that's another Christmas morning wrapped up, I suppose."

"Yeah," Bruce grimaced, glancing to where a sizable stack of presents still sat. "...Sort of."

"He told us to go ahead without him if he wasn't back from his mission yet," Barbara, seated on the couch beside him, reminded. "I don't like it either, but...you know how he is about holidays."

"I know he likes to participate in them," the billionaire said dourly. "Especially since this is only Johnny's second Christmas."

"I took copious photographs, sir," the butler assured. "It may not be quite the same, but he'll at least be able to see the youngest master's excitement second-hand."

"And I got video, too," Tim revealed, holding up the digital camcorder he'd received early on in the proceedings. "I only got the second half of the presents, but this way he can hear him squealing, too."

"Tiny won't even remember that he wasn't here," Damian threw in from the opposite corner of the room, where he was busily bolting the wheels of a plastic pedal car in place. "And he didn't even really seem to get the whole presents idea until halfway through, anyway."

"That's not the point," Bruce grumbled.

The toddler, who had been hovering around his uncle and watching pieces and decals being added to his new mode of transportation, turned his head at those words. Frowning, he abandoned his overseeing and closed the distance between himself and the speaker, raising his arms when he drew near. "Up?"

"What do you say, Johnny?" his mother asked immediately.

He looked at her, then back at the man who was already bending towards him. "Peas up?"

"Close enough, chum," Bruce swept the boy into his lap. "Decided to come see me, huh?"

"You talk sad," was pouted back. Stretching up, small fingers pushed at the sides of the billionaire's mouth, trying to force them upwards. "Why?"

"Well..." He sent a hesitant glance towards the woman beside him, not sure if she wanted her husband's absence discussed with the child. When she merely shrugged with a 'what are you going to tell him but the truth?' look, he went on. "I'm a little sad because your dad's not here today. That's all."

"Oh..." Johnny turned around, seeming to search for the missing figure. "Where daddy?"

"He's off doing...something important," Bruce answered. "I just wish I knew what, exactly," he added in a mutter. "He'll be back soon, I was just hoping he'd be here today."

"No daddy today?"

"...No, no daddy today."

"When?"

"Soon. I don't know when."

"When soon?"

"I don't know," the man repeated with a level of patience he had only ever shown to the boy in his arms. "I wish I did know, but I don't."

"When soon? Want daddy!"

"Here, Bruce, let me have him before he pitches a fit," Barbara requested, reaching for her son. "Come here, Johnny."

"No! Want daddy!" With a nimble slither that everyone who saw it agreed he had inherited from his father, the child slipped from Bruce's grasp and ducked that of his mother, tumbling to the floor and climbing to his feet. "Daddy home!" he proclaimed stubbornly. "Want daddy home!" Then he bolted for the hallway as quickly as his feet could carry him, dodging Alfred's one-handed attempt to snag the back of his pajamas and disappearing towards the front door.

"...Sorry, Barbara."

"It's okay," she sighed, making to get up. "He's been like this all week, dashing for the door every time he notices Dick's absence. I'm starting to get used to being disappointed when I chase after him and find out that he doesn't have any better radar than I do."

"Please, Miss Barbara, allow me," the butler offered before she could rise. "I imagine a cookie will distract him from his distress."

"Yeah," Damian snorted as he set his project upright. "It always works on Grayson, so why not on Tiny G, too?"

"That is the stupidest nickname," Tim shook his head. "'Tiny G'? He's a baby, not a rapper."

"Says the uncle who hasn't bothered to come up with a nickname for him at all," the teen retorted.

"I don't have a problem using people's actual names, so..."

"Anyway," Barbara broke in, "that would be great, Alfred. I hate giving him sugar to make him stop crying, but I hate him crying because his father's gone on Christmas even more."

"Daddy!" a sudden, joyous shriek echoed down the corridor.

Everyone in the living room paused. "You don't think...?" Tim ventured.

"I'm going to find out," Bruce declared, standing and striding for the hall. "I'll be right back one way or the other."

"I'll join you, sir," Alfred volunteered, following him.

"Well, I'm willing to let my kid give me false hope one more time," Barbara sighed, pushing herself up.

"And I'm not staying here with you and a bunch of easily accessible glass hanging from the tree," Tim tossed at Damian.

The teen sneered. "Going to poison Tiny's mind against me, Drake?"

Tim hesitated in the doorway. "I wouldn't do that, actually," he commented. "Johnny likes you for some weird reason; if I tried to convince him not to, he'd probably just end up hating me. And I don't want that, because I love him, too."

Damian approached, stopping within striking distance and meeting his brother's eyes. "...You'd better love him," he all but threatened. "And if I ever find out you are trying to make him hate me, I'll...I'll sic Grayson on you."

"You wouldn't try to beat the shit out of me yourself?" Tim arched a curious eyebrow.

"No. Hurting you myself would just make Gordon resent me and not want me around her child. Besides, anything Grayson would do or say in that situation would be far more effective and painful than any beating I might give you."

"...Yeah, it would be," he said thoughtfully. "Speaking of, let's go see if he's actually home, huh? Bruce is right, Christmas is weird without his corny jokes."

Damian tilted his head to the side. "It's funny," he remarked. "There are moments when you aren't a complete idiot. That's unexpected."

"Gee, thanks. Now, can we go?"

"Fine."

They drew into the foyer and stopped, both of their minds immediately flying as they tried to work out exactly what was going on. Dick stood at the base of the stairs, Johnny in his arms; facing him were Barbara, Alfred, and Bruce, all wearing unreadable expressions of shock and caution. Behind him was the cause of the trio's consternation, a man who hadn't stepped foot inside Wayne Manor in a decade. His face was swollen in places and bore fading bruises, but despite that and the changes that the passage of time had wrought he was perfectly recognizable out of costume.

"Oh, shit," Tim breathed. "It's Jason."

"Jason," Bruce said unevenly. "What..."

"Relax," Dick urged. "It's okay. He's with me."

No one spoke for another long minute, and finally the figure at the rear grimaced. "I told you this wouldn't work," he accused, a note of pain lurking behind the words.

"Give it a minute, Jay," the older male shook his head at his brother's haste. "Here, Johnny-boy," he addressed the toddler buried against his throat, "can you look around for a second? There's someone I want you to meet."

"Daddy home," the boy said contently, not moving.

"I am home, you're right. But I really want you to meet this person, okay? C'mon, just for a second?" The child finally pulled back at the mild desperation in his father's voice. "There. Johnny," Dick turned so that his son could see the new arrival, "this is your Uncle Jason. Can you say hi?"

Johnny blinked at the battered figure for several tense seconds, seeming to take his measure. Then a beaming smile, blatantly stolen from the man holding him, spilled across his face. "Hi!" he exclaimed happily.

That single word, spoken in the joyous high voice of a little boy on Christmas, cut through the mounting tension, deflating it to a tolerable level. "Hey, kid...Jesus, Dick, are you sure he isn't a clone?" Jason asked, something that was almost amusement lacing his tone. "He couldn't look more like you if he tried."

"We're still trying to figure out where my genes went," Barbara contributed lightly, earning a grateful look from her husband. "Hi, Jason."

"...Hey..."

"He's got her stubbornness," Dick joked, "which means god help anyone who ever wants to date him."

"You've got it backwards," the woman countered, moving up beside him to take the still-staring and smiling child. "He might have my stubbornness, but he's got your charm, so god help anyone he ever wants to date. Especially if she says no at first," she added.

"And at second, third, and thirtieth," Dick teased. "You want to go with mommy?" he asked the boy.

"No! Stay daddy," Johnny latched back onto his father, somehow not turning his head away from his new acquaintance as he did so. "Hi," he repeated when Jason looked at him again.

"...Hi. Ah..." Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, the returnee glanced at the four still ranged behind Dick, his eyes lingering on Bruce for a beat longer than the others. "...Shit."

"Master Jason," Alfred, his voice heavy with restrained emotion, ventured as he took a single step closer, "we were about to have a little mid-morning snack. Just cookies and cocoa, but...there's plenty, if you'd like to come into the living room." It was halfway a lie – the only person who had been about to receive either cookies or cocoa five minutes before was Johnny – but no one who knew better objected.

The younger man met the butler's hopeful look for a moment, then looked away. "I don't think I really should."

"Jason, don't," Dick said firmly. "Don't be like this. We talked about how it would be," his voice dropped in volume. "You know it's going to be awkward at first, but at least give it a chance, if not for you then for," his gaze dropped to the boy in his arms and then to the hallway behind the other man, "them."

"...'Them'?" Barbara, still at Dick's elbow, blinked in confusion. "What...?"

"Long story, pretty lady, that Jason will tell when he ready. Jay," he pleaded. "Please."

"Jason," Bruce's voice ventured as he approached. He halted midway between where he'd started and where his two eldest stood in conference, and then swallowed visibly. "...Don't go."

Jason kept his head up but averted his eyes, his lips pursing. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because this is your home, and it's Christmas," the billionaire answered shakily. "You should be here, today of all days. You don't...you don't have to say a word to me if you don't want to," he nearly stuttered, "but...just stay for a little while. Get to know your nephew; have one of Alfred's cookies. Please, Jason...stay."

"So what, we just let sleeping dogs lie?" He crossed his arms, not defiantly but as if he needed the protection of his old angry facade to keep from giving in too easily.

"If that's what you want, I'm fine with it."

"You're just going to let go of everything? I find that hard to believe."

"The past is important," Bruce answered slowly, "but it's not as important as the future. I didn't always see things that way, but...I do lately," his eyes darted to where Johnny was watching him raptly, one thumb in his mouth. "I'd just like to spend the day with my family. My entire family," he emphasized. "And I can't do that if you leave."

Jason could have turned the billionaire's final comment around into an accusation of self-centeredness, a barb that he hadn't held back from using in the past; he might have delivered a truly devastating blow and stated that he'd only come in order to remind his former guardian how much he resented the decision that had been the root cause of their estrangement. He did neither of those things, however, instead merely giving a slight nod. "...One hour," he conceded roughly. "And I reserve the right to leave before then if I feel pressured."

"Agreed," Bruce said immediately.

"I'll start the milk to heating," Alfred announced, eagerness underlining his tone. "If you'll all make your way back to the living room..."

"Wait," Jason stopped him. "...Wait." Ignoring the pain that flashed through Bruce's gaze at that suggestion that he might renege on the agreement he'd just made, he turned to Dick. "I'd better not regret this down the line," he warned.

"You won't, Jay. More importantly, when she's old enough to understand what this took she'll thank you for doing it for her."

"'She'?" Bruce asked. "...Jason?"

Taking a deep breath, Jason held up one finger and retreated to the hallway that led back to the clock. He ducked out of sight, and a tiny whimper escaped the billionaire. "Dick, he's not leaving?"

"No, he's not. At least I don't think he is. He's just...getting something."

"Daddy?" Johnny interjected.

"Hmm?"

"Where Unca Jason?"

"He'll be right back," Dick reassured him, smiling proudly at the boy's quick absorption of his relation's name and title. "See?" he sighed in relief as the younger man reappeared. "He's right there."

"What's that?" the child pointed at the apparatus that was being carried in just as all of the unprepared adults gasped.

"This," Jason answered as he set the carrier down and pulled back the cover to unveiled a tiny, sleeping face, "is Jayden. She's, ah...she's just a little younger than you are, Johnny." He colored slightly as Bruce gaped at him. "What?" he challenged uncomfortably.

The billionaire finally closed his mouth, blinking away tears before they could fall. "...She's beautiful, Jason."

"Yeah, well...thanks."

"She's sassy, too," Dick put in. "Sassier than you'd think a six-month-old could be. Wait until she's awake, she'll blow your mind."

No one spoke for a moment as Bruce raised a hand to his mouth and watched his second and wholly unexpected grandchild sleep. Jason, in turn, watched Bruce, glancing surreptitiously between him and the baby. Eventually Barbara broke the silence. "Unless there are any other big surprises," she said quietly, "I could stand to sit down."

Dick was immediately attentive, shifting Johnny to one arm and offering her the other. "...Jason?" he queried. "Anything else you need to say out here?"

"No," he shook his head. "We'll...we'll stay a little while, I guess."

"Great. Well then," he jostled his son playfully, "let's get some cookies, huh?"

"Yay!"

Much later that day, after Jason had departed with his daughter and some of the raw emotions his appearance had dredged up had eased, Bruce asked Dick a quiet question. "I think it's pretty obvious at this point," he began, "but...was what happened today the conclusion of your mission from this past week?"

The younger male sent his wife a guilty look. "Yeah. I'm sorry I missed Christmas morning, but...I saw an opportunity, and the potential reward was too great to pass up."

"It's all right," Barbara smiled. "Johnny got a new cousin to obsess over out of it, so I think he'll forgive you." The toddler had been fascinated with the baby that Jason had been convinced to pass around when she woke up to eat some two hours into his visit. Kneeling next to whoever was holding her at the time, he'd examined her fingers and toes, comparing them to his own, and had finally grown bold enough to poke her stomach to see if she would giggle the way he did when he was prodded. She had, and had then swatted at him, smacking his hand away. Every time he attempted to repeat the feat, she waved his hand away, and before long it had turned into something approximating a game between the two children, both making happy noises when Jayden made contact.

"How did you manage it, Dick?" the billionaire pushed for the details he hadn't dared to ask for while his second son had been in earshot. "After all this time, how?"

"It was intense," he confessed. "I'll tell you, but try not to let him know, okay? He didn't ask me not to share – he had to have known you would ask, he's not an idiot – but I didn't exactly go looking for permission, either. Anyway...I was out on patrol last week, the night I called in and told Babs I had a mission and wouldn't be home. Everything was normal until I circled around and pushed into Hood's territory. I wasn't trying to be invasive or anything, I just...usually swing by around this time of year, you know, to wish him Merry Christmas."

"Wait, you do?" Tim boggled. "Since when?"

"Since he's been back," Dick shrugged. "He not usually nice about seeing me, but I know it makes him feel good that someone makes the effort. So I thought I'd go ahead and try to see him, since I was alone on that side of town. I had just crossed one of his usual routes when I heard what sounded like a mugging."

"Is that why his face was all fuc-" Damian stopped, glancing at Johnny, "-fudged up?"

"Yeah. I dropped down, and there were a bunch of the usual suspects from that neck of the woods just beating the utter crap out of him. We're not talking low-grade minions, either, we're talking other masks, people we," he indicated the room at large "have tussled with in the past and who he's been considering as on his side for a while now. He'd managed to take down a fair number before they got him on the ground, but there were still three standing."

"Who?" Bruce growled.

"Don't worry about it. I sent them home regretting the day they went after my little brother," Dick replied. "Once that was done, I realized that there was no way he was getting home on his own. He realized it, too, because once I got him to stop trying to crawl away from me he told me how to get to his place. It wasn't until we were inside and I'd cleaned him up a bit – he fought me on that, too, but there wasn't much he could do about it in his state – that I found out about Jayden.

"Well, that changed things. I had tried to get him to come to the cave, just to make sure he didn't have any serious injuries, but when he kept refusing I figured I'd just get him comfortable, leave, and find some way to check on him every night. Once Jayden started crying in the next room, though, I saw my in. Jason being attacked by his cronies and having a baby seemed like the kind of combination that might have weakened his walls enough for me to get behind them and drag him back with me, but I knew that one night wasn't going to do it. I needed more time, but I didn't dare leave and give him a chance to shore up his defenses.

"That was where Uncle Clark came in. I called him and asked him to cover for me, say I was on a last-minute JLA trip that he couldn't talk about. He didn't ask questions once I told him that it was important, and he obviously kept his word, so..." Seeing the scowl that had been drawn on Bruce's face by that information, he hustled forward in the story. "After that...after that it was a lot of talking. A lot of talking. I tried to focus on Jayden; it was obvious that he loves her long before he told me that he found her on his doorstep and has no idea if she's his biologically,. So I pitched things to him in terms of her. I told him that she deserves to grow up with a loving support group, and to have people she can fall back on who won't kick her when she's down. He got really ticked at me a couple of times, but between still being sore and stiff and worrying that someone would attack in the middle of the day – some of the rats I caught busting him up knew where he lived, he said, and we both knew that he was too weak at that point to repel them if they came – he needed me there.

"Last night I caught him watching her sleep, and I could tell just looking at him that he was turning over all of the things I'd been saying for the last six days. So I pushed him. I asked him how he would feel if Jayden grew up and, for whatever reason, decided to act towards him the way he's been acting towards you for so long, Bruce. That was dumb, I knew immediately, and if he'd had a gun within reach at that moment I don't know that he wouldn't have shot me.

"He didn't have, though, and after a second of his screaming at me Jayden started to cry. I think something clicked for him then. I don't know what, exactly, but he was silent the rest of the night. Early this morning he started asking me what it might be like if he, you know, made an effort. I didn't give him any false hope; I told him it wasn't going to be easy. I knew he'd turn and walk out the door if he came along and found out I'd inflated anything at all, so I was as honest as I could be. Somehow, he agreed to give it a try anyway."

He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "I don't know how it all worked out, to tell you the truth, Bruce. Looking back on it, it was insane. But it worked," he grinned. "It worked, and he came, and...I can't believe it."

"Nor can I, Master Dick," Alfred, who had been misty-eyed for the entirety of Jason's visit and was so again after hearing the story of how it had come about, said. "I suppose one might chalk it up as a Christmas miracle, if one believed in such things."

"It was luck," the billionaire countered. "Luck, and quick thinking on Dick's part. You took advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime situation, and it played out in your favor. Thank you," he said sincerely.

"I'm just glad it seems to have ended...well, better than awful," Dick replied. For all that things had still been strained between Bruce and Jason when the latter had left late in the afternoon – the few exchanges they'd shared had focused entirely on Jayden – the extended visit and the promise of another trip to the house sometime early in the new year suggested that progress was not only possible, but imminent. "Although...you two were awfully quiet today," he turned to his other brothers. "How do you feel about all of this?"

Tim's mouth tightened. "Honestly, Dick, I just tried to stay clear of him," he confessed. "I didn't want to screw things up by reminding him I was here, since I know how he thinks of me, but I didn't want to leave, either, just in case he...I don't know, was pulling a ruse or something just to get in the house. There was a lot going on, and I didn't really think it necessary or wise to put my two cents in."

"...I understand, but I hope it doesn't stay like that forever," Dick sighed. "I'd like to see you two at least on civil speaking terms at some point. I know there's a lot of other things that have to be worked out before then, but...well, hopefully his being able to come to terms a little with Bruce will help his opinion of you. What about you, Dami?" he queried of his youngest brother.

"I had nothing to say, so I said nothing."

Dick gave him a long look. "You're still trying to read him and balance your own opinion out with everything you've heard said about him and seen of him in the field?" he made an educated guess.

"...Yes," the teen admitted grudgingly. "Maybe."

"That shouldn't be a surprise," Bruce contributed. "Damian's never really met Jason as a civilian before."

"Which means he can offer a fresh opinion. So, little D, what did you think?" Dick inquired.

"The baby is acceptable. She kind of looks like Tiny did when he was that age, so...maybe more than acceptable. Her father might turn out okay." He paused. "...That's up to him at this point."

"Well, that's better than his first opinion of me was," Tim snorted.

"...I was younger then," Damian stated slowly. "In any case, parts of my original assessment of you still stand today as correct."

"Gee, thanks."

Before Damian could retort, Johnny slipped from his father's knees to sit on the floor, the ball he had been silently playing with clutched in his hands. "Unca Tim!" he called. "Ball!" With that he pushed it towards the man he'd addressed, looking disappointed when it stopped only partway there. "...Oh."

"I'll get it, Johnny," a corner of Tim's mouth tilted up as he, too, moved to the rug, sitting where the toy had stopped. "Here," he prepared to roll it back.

"No!" the boy protested. "Unca Dami want ball!"

"...Whoa, little boy," Barbara whistled. "You don't know what you're getting into there."

"John B. Grayson, future UN peacekeeper," Dick joked. "Two countries get feisty, he sits them down and makes them play ball."

"Nicely, I hope," Alfred directed pointedly at his two continually sparring charges.

"Yeah," Tim said, glancing over as Damian dropped into a spot equidistant from himself and Johnny. "I don't think he'll let them get away with anything that isn't nice."

"...Pass the ball, Drake, you're holding up the game," the teen said with only half the usual distaste in his voice.

"Right. Here."

Bruce watched them play for a long moment, Johnny laughing happily every time they completed a circle without incident. "...Just aiming to mend all of the family fences today, are we?" he nudged Dick's foot.

The younger man smiled broadly. "Made a pretty good start, I think." He glanced to where his son was forcing his brothers to cooperate, and his grin grew. "...Did you have a good day today, Bruce? Honestly?"

The billionaire sighed. "It was a hard day, chum," he replied. "But yes, it...it was a good one, too. A very good one."

"Then it was all worth it," Dick judged.

"...Merry Christmas, Dick," Bruce wished him, a proud smile shining in his eyes.

"The same to you, Bruce," a sunny grin shone. "The same to all of us."


End file.
